A Saw Fanfic: Memoirs Of Rivielle Kramer
by DaisyGatsby
Summary: Rivielle was trapped. She survived, and now she's grateful, thus begins the story of her love and obsession for John Kramer, the Jigsaw killer.
1. Trapped

[AN: I have redone this chapter. There are no major changes to the plot or characters.]

* * *

I forced my eyes open, only to take in no more than darkness. I was sitting, and when I tried to lift my arms, I found they were tied down to my chair. When the television flashed on, I didn't look right away. My eyes painfully adjusted to the light and then focused on the table directly across from me, all kinds of instruments laid out across it. I likened it to a dentist's table.

I was hurt I thought; my body ached. I was afraid.

In my confusion, I could only remember, ironically, reading the newspaper's front page story about a series of victims caught and tortured by the now infamous, Jigsaw Killer.

But that television was on, and I turned my cramped neck to watch it.

"Hello Rivielle." A morbidly painted puppet spoke to me in an unfamiliar rasp. A chill built in the small of my back and raced up my spine.

"For three years, you've been a call girl, a street walker. Giving yourself off to strangers for money, inflicting pain on the men's families, who wonder where their husbands and fathers are at those late hours. But now it is your turn to worry. I have placed several devices on the table before you, but unlike those before you, I will not let you in on the game just yet. Part of your suffering will be the wait. I will leave you there, to ponder helplessly, what is in store for you."

"No!" I hoarsely screamed at the television as it flickered off, leaving me in the nothing again. Tears then dampened my face, and I struggled hysterically against my binds. Things went on like this for what seemed like hours, I continued to shriek into the darkness.

Ages passed. Finally, I heard footsteps and my heart jumped in anxiety and increasing terror. The door opened, revealing some cloaked person by the light of the outside.

They went over to the table, their hands glided over the instruments of pain, picked one up. I couldn't tell what exactly. He turned to me. I was wailing helplessly.

"Please..." I begged. They approached me. I shut my eyes, bracing myself for pain.

Unexpectedly, I felt hands touching me gently, a palm pressing against my jaw and pushing my head back so it was supported by the chair. Now assuming he was a man by his build, I felt him running his hand up my leg and rest on my thigh carefully. I was baffled by their tender contact, the mildness of their assault. And most perplexing of all, they began to undo the binds.

This couldn't be the Jigsaw killer.

He was reported to never help his subjects out of their tests. They were to help _themselves_. He undid everything until I was able to stand again. I stood, sputtering wild 'thank yous', running past him towards the door and into the light, not looking back once.

_So, I was free, but why?_

-

I didn't make it home for hours, I couldn't because my shift definitely wasn't over yet, and what was the sense in going to the police if nothing happened? What am I going to say? "I was working the street when a guy kidnapped me and barely groped me before letting me go." They would probably arrest _me_ for hooking.

But I came home that night to a not so empty house. My living room light was already on.

_Oh God oh God Oh God_

When I came to the room, I found an older man, early fifties, sitting casually on my sofa.

I dropped the bag I was holding, and ran for the door. But I was too late. It wasn't going to open, someone had rigged it not to open from the inside without a key.

I screamed, turning to go for the phone but I heard him speak.

"There's no dial tone. You might as well come here." I stopped cold. He was still sitting on the couch, looking up at me.

"What are you doing in my house!? Who are you!?" I now saw the cut phone line.

"I'm the help you've long sought." He informed me casually.

"Weren't you the one who...who put me-" I tried to find the words, I was looking around the room for something, anything I could use to defend myself. My eyes rested on the drawer of the table that supported a lamp. There was a handgun inside it.

"Your previous trap was a failure. I'm here because I want you to win."

He folded his hands. "I want to play a game."

"I don't!"

"Play by the rules and we both win."

"What…" I inched closer to the dresser drawer. "what do I have to do?"

"The rules are simple; all you have to do is sit here and talk to me. If you can do that long enough then you will succeed. Think of this as an interview. We haven't been properly introduced. My name is John Kramer. And if you pay attention to the media, you'll know me as the 'Jigsaw Killer'." He chuckled.

I stared at him blankly until I finally became calm enough to sit; I sat on the other side of him, an armchair.

"You sit here and talk to me for one hour. And then I'll remove the lock on your door." All seriousness laid in his tone.

I didn't have to think, I sat numbly on the chair opposite him. We stared at each other gravely, until he spoke.

"How did you feel Rivielle, when you sat in the dark for those three hours?"

"Three hours?" I was stunned. I could feel his unrelenting stare. "Uh…I…" I began to tremble with unease.

He saw my discomfort. "I assure you, you can be honest with me. Frankly, I wouldn't hurt you. Though…it still seems you don't trust me, your eyes have been glued to the drawer over there. Useless to do so, as I found the gun hours ago."

I looked down, feeling defeated. I swore under my breath.

"I sort of knew you would, I just hoped otherwise. It's not a crime…"

At first I couldn't move. I was a little stunned, but I eventually got up and went to the kitchen, feeling at ease.

-

An hour passed as John told me of his past. His childhood, which was quite serene considering the way his life had turned. His, younger years, a few of them spent in the Marines where he honed his own survival instinct. And finally, his marriage to Jill. I envied the long happy years she had with John, contrasting immensely to my 'easy come, easy go relationships'.

I hadn't realized it until later, but I hadn't had a proper conversation with a man in three years.

Somewhere in the house a timer went off, and true to his word, John calmly stopped in the middle of his sentence, and got up to shake my hand.

"Game over." He said.

He departed, unlocking the door with his key and leaving me, breathless and shaken.

I didn't call the police, I saw no need to. He didn't harm me.

In fact,

_He helped me._


	2. Sleep

After John left I couldn't sleep for three weeks. I kept myself up imagining that once I closed my eyes I would open them and be in a different room, just as shadowy and grim as the last. My stomach tossed and turned over at the thought; and before I knew it I was staring at my digital clock in the dark. It read 3:35 AM.

I'd stayed up for four hours dreaming awake about John.

Exhausted, yet fueled awake with the adrenaline rush of paranoia, I closed my heavy lids for one second and then, I was out of the conscious world.

Sometime later, I jumped out of my sleep, in a cold sweat and panting. _It was only a dream..._ I told myself. But somehow, I couldn't make myself believe it.

That was my nightly routine for nearly a month. That is, when I received my next message.

I'd trying to keep my self up longer at night, drinking coffee and inviting friends over as much as I could, keeping myself protected and lively; although most days I would run on 5 hours of sleep.

I visited a doctor about my insomnia, and he prescribed me something that I stopped taking, they were these little white pills that I was to take only with food, and I couldn't drink alcohol with them either. He was a nice guy, a little too friendly, that Doc; although his name slips my mind, Dr. Gerrold...Garfield...

But I knew things couldn't go on like that forever. The day would come when I would pass out from exhaustion or go delirious and have hallucinations. Considering my past, hallucinations was not an option. My imagination could get morbid at times.

Finding myself alone one night, I began to crave the company of another soul. Not just any soul. A mind as well, a punctual one, which has depth as well as insight.

I'll never forget October 17th, 2004.  
I was dressing in my nightclothes after coming out of my shower for the third time that day, the only thing that really helped me stay awake...  
I stared at my face in my mirror, my eyes were pale red from sleep deprivation, my face was pallid and blank, no makeup. It seemed my existence was spiraling and I couldn't find a safety net.

I tried brushing my hair out, but I saw no point. I wasn't going to see any man tonight. So, I decided I would take another futile attempt at sleep. The clock said 11:21, and I sighed deeply.  
I had just opened the door to my bathroom, just stepping out when I heard my front door close with a small click.

My heart jumped up into my throat with a painful lurch. I swallowed hard to get the lump out, but it was a mental thing. My hands were shaking as I held onto the door frame of my bathroom for balance. Surely if I didn't hold on, I would fall. I felt weak and frightened enough to do just that. So I held fast, not daring to peak. The silence around me was deafening, and I wondered what had _he_ been doing here once more.

I stepped out, now in my hall, looking carefully around. My heart was beating too fast and my blood boiled. I tested my own voice, which came out in a shaky and uneven croak-

"J-John?"

There was no answer. The only sound was the ticking of my grandfather clock. I let out a breath that I didn't realize I was holding. I was in my hall now. I felt alone again, and that gave me reassurance that no one was here, anymore. Looking around one final time, I gave up. I was unaccompanied.

Deciding it was safe to try and have a lie down, I did just that, stopping to close the window in my dark room; I caught my reflection once more in the mirror on the dresser across from my bed. I stared hard at my image, subconsciously noticing something that wasn't there before. Then my eyes caught it and I spun, fast; almost shrieking.

There on my bed was a doll, a puppet doll. Sitting among the stuffed animals, as if it had always been there. It looked comically out of place. But none of this occurred to me at first. First and foremost, I was ready to jump out of my skin at the sight of it.

I gasped and took such a violent step backwards, that I bumped hard into my dresser, hurting my heel. The pain didn't register right away, all that made sense was the note attached to the bow tie of the small puppet doll staring up at me with those scarlet irises.

'Get some sleep.' The note ordered. It seemed more like a plea to me. That was all. My hand went up to my mouth in disbelief. I reached out with a shaking hand for the doll. It went off before I even grazed it with my fingertips; it began to laugh at me.

I grabbed the doll and held it, looking at it for some time with utter astonishment mixed with dread, and even the faintest feeling of longing ran through me. My fingers traced the outline of the doll, feeling an inscription on the back. I turned the doll around and peering at it through the dim light I could make out the engraved words-

_Cherish your life._

And my own name at the end of that.

I'll never forget that night, and how I slept like a baby.


	3. Backsliding

By the next weekend, I was out on a job. That puzzled me, because I was sure I was going to let Brenda know I was through with it all. I wanted to be finished with the sleazy parking lots and motel rooms. After my first experience with John...I found myself staying home most nights. Nights I knew I could make the most money, which wasn't like me at all.

Backsliding, I couldn't bear to be alone in my house any longer. My mind deflected the thought as to why.

It was a bitter night. While walking, I batted my eyes to keep out the stinging wind that blew at my face. I then recalled my last actions before leaving home. Guilt ridden, and distressed, I'd grabbed the small puppet doll off of my nightstand and placed it into my purse.

-

_Cherish Your Life_. He'd given me advice I'd be stupid not to take, and yet...why was I out here now in some uncomfortable heels, in the cold autumn night under a street light, mostly alone. Except for a troubled looking teenage boy who gave me a glare. He was a few feet away from me, sitting on a bus stop bench, although the buses didn't run at this hour, strange enough. What was he doing out here? I smiled shyly at him, feeling guilty and embarrassed. He knew what I was doing out here so late, and he couldn't hide his disgust. Despite that, I tried being friendly. He looked alone, and sad underneath the badass attitude he was displaying.

He was scruffy and looked like somebody had roughed him up pretty bad. I wondered if he'd gotten into a fight at school.

"Hey kid." I called him.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "What?"

I shrugged, "What are you doing out here? Its like...almost two AM."

He scoffed, "What do you care? You have better things to do right? Or should I say people to do."

"Hey, cool it kid. I'm not your beep mother. I was just trying to-"

"What? Just trying to feel sorry for me and tell me to run home before something happens to me? Well tough. I can't go home." He stared at his shoes.

I pulled out a cigarette. I lit it and took a long drag. "Why's that? I'm sure you've got somebody."

"I do. But he kicked me out. Found some pot in my room…my dad's a real hard ass."

I blew two smoke rings into the air, he rolled his eyes.

"My mom was too. But I ran away. Didn't make things much better, in any case." I thought about being sixteen again. I was young and had everything in my reach, I had the opportunity to change the world, but I'd thrown it away.

He didn't reply, he simply took a long breath and stood up. He looked unsure of himself, staring towards the apartments that he must have come from.

"Go ahead kid." I gestured towards the direction he was staring. He turned his head, giving me a nod. "I'm sure your dad loves you. He's probably cooled off by now." I tried to reassure him.  
He coughed, the cold was getting to him now, or maybe it was the marijuana in his lungs. "Thanks." He darted across the street and made his was towards the apartments. I watched him until he was out of sight.

-

The passing cars were getting less frequent now, and I realized I'd been standing in the same place too long.  
A voice in my mind suggested I go home; it was ever so polite, so I agreed with it.

My heels made a click clack sound on the pavement; it was an unnerving noise for the fact that it was all I heard. And at that moment my thoughts connected. It was too quiet. Not unusual for a lonely street at two in the morning, yet I knew this area, and around this time you could usually hear _something_. A couple of alley cats fighting, a car alarm in the distance, even an acquaintance of mine who was making her rounds as well.

But tonight, nothing. Nothing but the sound of my own heels; that is, until I turned the corner.

I stopped dead, my eyes widened with the sight. A hooded figure was grabbing another person, holding a cloth over their face. It was dark here except for the streetlight that was now flickering, threatening to go off completely very soon. We were all in the shadows, but I was still able to see the mask over the face of the captor. Seeing the mask now, jolted back the memory of how I was first trapped. Less than two months ago, I was that victim, helpless, and yet helped at the same time. Frozen in dread, I told myself that I would not allow it to happen again. I gasped too loud in an effort to scream; and the masked figure, who was stuffing the cloth back into the pocket of their jacket and letting their victim slump down to the ground, turned to look at me.

I tried to catch my breath, but it wouldn't come.

Instead, watching the masked assailant walk towards me, I bolted from the scene. I was sprinting now, and nearly falling as well, thanks to the heels I was in; though I didn't dare stop to take them off. Six blocks away, I finally assumed I was safe, and slowed down to catch my breath which was coming out in heaves and hurt my throat.

After a while, my breathing slowed slightly and my heartbeat became normal again. I stood there, waiting. Panicky and on the verge of tears, I lingered. Even I was lost as to why. Who was I expecting to come out of the shadows for me? I tried to look in all directions the way an anxious rabbit awaits an attack from a wolf.

Moments later, I was hearing no signs of danger and sensing I was quite alone on the deserted street.

Until I felt a pair of hands close around my face. One holding something over my nose that smelled sweetly antiseptic, and it was very strong. The other held my mouth, which muffled a bloodcurdling shriek. Dropping my purse, I struggled against my attacker while a voice in my mind ordered me to submit. I promptly felt dazed and faint, as I'd inhaled in a large amount of the chemical in order to scream. I closed my eyes, and let the darkness envelop me.


	4. Again

I can't enlighten you for sure as to how long I was out, but I awoke feeling warm and comfortable, as opposed to passing out in the cold night. I was in an upright position, arms bound in front of me. I was sitting on something comfy, which I assumed was a sofa. _My sofa?_ I couldn't tell because I hadn't opened my eyes right away. Instead, I kept my breathing steady, listening for any sign that I was in another trap.

_Of course you are._ I told myself. Why would he kidnap me again if I wasn't?  
So I opened my eyes, only to see darkness again, and feel very abandoned, when in truth, I was not.

I sat there in the pitch dark silence, feeling reminiscent of my first trap. Yet I knew this would be different. I didn't know I had anything further to be taught, but evidently, John had more plans for me.

I couldn't tell whether I was distressed or eager at the prospect. The bitter-sweetness of it overtook me and I called out into the shadows:

"John!" no answer, only an echo, and a defeated groan nearby.  
I struggled, but my wrists were fettered efficiently.

When I was ready to shout again, my television flickered once, turned black once more, and then turned itself on. Revealing a larger version of my puppet doll, and I wondered where my small friend was now, remembering how I'd dropped my purse in the street. I stared at the screen, which was the only light source in the room. Doing this caused my retinas to strain painfully as they adjusted to the sudden beams.

My sore eyes traveled from it to the body sitting no more than three feet from me, on the floor propped up by my wall. The poor fool was chained to it. I had recognized my surroundings to be my own living room. The body was sitting up like me, and its hands were also tied. The only divergence being they were tied in back, not in front. It was wearing all black and had a black sack over its head, hiding its identity.

The puppet on the television spoke in John's voice.

"Hello Rivielle, I'm sure you're wondering why you must play again. But only I know why, and the rules are simple. There is a man sitting near you. He cannot harm you, as his life depends on your help. He has committed a terrible crime, and only you have the tools that can save him. Will you condemn him or liberate him? You have ten minutes to remove his device with a digital password. You are being tested on your will to save another, as I once saved you. Live or Die, Rivielle, make his choice."

The screen flickered off and a dim light came on somewhere in my kitchen. This helped me see moderately better, but not too well. It was placed in the middle of my ceiling and gave me some view. My wrists were taped with duct tape, and I knew I needed someone else to peel it off. I tried using my teeth, but to no avail. I glanced up; the body was still sitting there, head lolling around in a dazed way. I sniffled, realizing I was probably becoming sick from being out in the cold too long.  
Finally, I decided to get over there and wake this 'criminal' up. Standing, I heard a click and a timer go off. The ticking prompted me to get over there, and fast. I swooped down in front of the man, grabbing onto his shoulder and shaking him violently. If this guy wanted to live, he'd better wake up.

He grunted loudly and I yelled at him- "Wake up! You're in danger, idiot!" I pulled the black sack off of his head, revealing an older man, middle aged with graying dark hair and a face that hadn't been shaved in a while.

He had a collar around his neck. It was attached to a pistol, which was aimed at the back of his head. On the collar were painted words that said: 'She is the key.' And below that was a small keyboard with only letters of the alphabet on it. On the back of his head were two small lights, a red one and a green one.

I inhaled sharply at the sight of him. I imagine I would've been shocked even if I had seen him in a less dangerous situation. My bound arms flew up to my mouth and I bit one of my fists to keep from howling too loud. Never had I remembered him in anything except old pictures. However, I knew this man from before I can remember. And I saw him more in my dreams than in reality. Without my knowing, oceans began to fall down my face. Groggily, his eyes lifted and then they focused on my distraught face. I estimated that we only had eight minutes left.

"Who are you?!" He shook his head of the dizziness that still lingered from the drugs.

I scanned him with my eyes, desperately looking for more clues, not trying to waste any more of his time. There was a bulge in his jacket pocket. Maneuvering my taped wrists, my hands grabbed at it, ignoring him as he shouted at me. I pulled it out of his pocket a cassette player. Wasting no time, I pressed play. When he sees me do this, he shuts up abruptly.

"Hello Robert. Many years ago, you decided to abandon your month-old infant daughter and her struggling mother, for a waitress you met in a bar. Leaving them on their own, you never looked back. Now is your chance for redemption. The device you are wearing is simple. You must look into the eyes of the child you had so easily forsaken and remember her name. Speak correctly and she will type it into the apparatus, freeing you. Wait too long and your life will end; as you threw away your life with your own flesh and blood. Will you humble yourself to the young girl whom you wanted nothing to do with? Make your choice."

He was bawling before the tape ended, repeating over and over again that he was sorry.

"I-I can't help you! You have to remember me on your own; its part of the rules!" My voice broke as I pleaded with him, his words turning into harsh sobs.

With five minutes left, I turned his head to the side, using my arms, and forced him to look up at me. His drained face and watery eyes focused on mine, and I tried to get him to cooperate with me.

"Robert...Dad..." I tested the word; it burned and tingled on my lips. I had never called anyone my father before. I suppressed a wail.

He moaned and said something to the nature of 'let me be'. He hiccupped, and the clock kept ticking. My heart thumped violently in my chest. "No no no no no, I won't let you- this is my test too!" I rapped on his face with my knuckles lightly, but he wouldn't stir. He seemed determined to wallow as our time was running out.

"I deserve this..." He rasped. I could only imagine what was running through his mind.

"Look!" I shouted. He did. Our eyes locked for a moment that we couldn't spare, I begged him- "Dad." The second time made me feel proud, yet I sunk deeper into disdain. "Just guess! Take a guess. Anything, just shout out something!"

He looked rueful, "Jennifer..." I shook my head in a frenzied way.  
"Angela.."  
"Beth."  
"Teresa."

Two minutes left.

"Lydia."  
"Diane..."  
Could I at least give him a hint? _Not possible_, I knew. This was his salvation, and as much as I wanted to help him, I also was deeply bound to the fact that he must learn his own lesson. As well as keeping in mind that I never knew him, I never wanted him in my life. His mistake, not mine.

"...Riley?" He hiccupped again; I saw that he was sweating bullets. No pun intended.  
"You're getting closer!" I encouraged tearfully. John's words rung in my ears:

_You are being tested on your will to save another._

Seeing the tears running down my face, he began to speak softly.

"Don't worry. It'll be fine...I'm sorry. But this is my punishment, and you deserved more than what I left you with."

"Stop saying that! I'm gonna save you-keep guessing!"

We buzzed through several more names, none of which even came close.  
The timer was counting down 60 seconds now. Hope was fading fast.

It seemed tragically ironic that my whole life I'd been without a father. Now that I finally meet him in person, he's seconds from death.  
I knew I should be livid. I knew deep down I should hold resent for John. For putting me through this again.  
But I could never be angry. He's given us closure, no matter how it's done. I was grateful.

20 seconds. My father asked me to tell me my name. I did. I told him I forgave him. He said he _loved_ me. I didn't believe him, though it was nice to hear. He snapped his eyes shut, and yelled at me to get out of the way.  
I wasn't fast enough.  
The timer ticked down to zero.

Crimson splattered on my face like confetti at a children's birthday party. I scooted back nearly two feet with eyes wide. I was far beyond a scream at this point, and the adrenaline that came with shock coursed through me instead. Still sitting in close proximity of the corpse, I ripped and tore at my binds with my teeth; shredding quickly through layers of the duct tape. However, it was too thick of a seal; and I gave up halfway through, standing up instead. I spun around fast, looking through the dim light, and running towards my light switch. I was midway when I was stopped. I fell backwards onto my backside. Looking up, I saw John standing over me.

"Game Over. We lost." I told him, indignant. I was out of breath, my chest heaving.

"No." He spoke. I was relived to finally hear him in person again. We both looked over at my father's body still chained to the wall, head slumped over. The scarlet was dripping heavily down his face, a large hole in the middle of his head. His eyes were shut and mouth hanging agape because he'd clenched his teeth just before...

"You won."

John kneeled and began peeling the tape off. As he did this, I couldn't take my eyes away from him.  
He glanced up, making eye contact. My breath caught in my throat.  
"Your tools to save were determination, will power, and fact based logic. I never had to give them to you. Part of understanding me, is never letting your emotions overpower you. You followed the rules."  
It was hard to speak. _I understand you._ I thought.  
I smiled warmly. He was _proud_ of me.  
"I-I..." I trailed off. Sitting at his feet, I must have looked awful. Hair frazzled, Make-up running and mixed with the splatter of blood. My wrists free and sore. I held out my hands, willing him to take them and help get me up. He hesitated. Waiting anxiously, I felt like my heart was an Indian war drum: steady yet ragingly fast paced.  
"Help me?" I was weak. It took everything in me to ask.

He did.


	5. Reborn

"Rivielle, you have everything to celebrate. Do not be afraid. From this moment on, you will forget your past. Leave it all behind. You've started anew. Today, I watched you be reborn."

John rested a gentle hand on my shoulder. I stood there next to him, taking it all in gradually. He seemed welcoming at least, and I wanted to feel reborn as he said. Somehow I couldn't conceive how in less than one hour, that all of my misdeeds were eradicated and that I was allowed to become a brand new person. This was too good to be true, in fact...I wondered briefly if this was real or if I was simply hallucinating.

"Thank you..." I watched as his hand fell away from my shoulder. Quickly, I took it in my own, before he was able to pull away. "...You saved me." Looking down at our hands, I was reassured; knowing that he was real and I could touch him.

You can't touch a figment of your imagination.

As I knew he would, he gently pulled out of my grip. I felt the warm blood rush into my cheeks and I averted my eyes from his.

"Emotion is something that is difficult to control..." He stepped back, watching me cautiously. Observing my next move. "But you did well. I have faith in you Rivielle."

He seemed so intellectual to me, unlike most I had encountered in my previous life. John was full of depth and understanding. None of my old colleagues had higher than a high school education, if that at all. I was so ready to take in all his philosophies. Until that moment, I was sure that there was no one in this world that could understand me. I sniffled, holding back violent tears that threatened to hinder my new existence.

I glanced back at him smiling weakly. I rubbed my forearms, I was freezing.

"So what now?" I hugged myself trying to keep my body heat from escaping.

He took me by the shoulder, leading me to the hall and towards my room.

"Get your things. Bring nothing of sentimental value. Remember, you've been reborn."

I dug through my dresser, a couple t-shirts and blouses, jeans and sweat pants, some socks, a pair of sneakers, underwear. I threw those things into a black plastic bag. I hurried; someone must have heard the gunshot and called the police by now. Then again, this was a bad neighborhood and the police didn't usually make this their first priority.

I had no use for photo albums and home videos anymore, so I took those and placed them under a loose floorboard in my room. Out of sight, out of mind. John watched me do this, and he nodded in approval.

I took a last look at my room: made bed, window, dresser, closet.

Not much, but it was my life at one point.

Before I was recreated. I turned to face him, but he was not in the doorway and I began to panic. _Please, don't leave again_. I begged internally. Rushing from my room, I called him. "John!" expecting to hear nothing, as usual when I call his name.

Instead, to my intense thankfulness, he answered from my living room.

"I'm in here."

Turning into the room, I saw him. He was staring out the window, observing the little people down below. It was sunrise now, and most of them were leaving or traveling for work and school. They had such trivial and insignificant things to worry about; for John, it was always a life or death situation. My heart ached for it, stepping into his shoes was painful. Imagine living it day in and day out. I wished we had known each other longer. Then I could hold him and tell him that everything would make sense for him in the end, and he'd believe it.

"I feel sorry for them." I gestured out to the bodies rushing past each other in an effort to get where they're going. Most already running late.

"They don't know the importance of time, and yet...the illusion of it." He told me. I nodded in agreement.

"When your time is limited, really restricted, it changes everything. That man wouldn't have stopped to get his cup of coffee if his life was on the line."

I scoffed at the man. The very idea of wasting any precious time was atrocious now that I was seeing with new eyes. With that said, I ran back to my room, grabbing the black plastic bag and closing my door behind me. I caught my reflection in the mirror on the wall beside me. I grimaced, and turned into the bathroom. I began to run the water for the last time. Splashing some on my face; I used the soap in the dish to clean off the blood, make-up and dirt from last night. When my face was clean and dried, I looked up into the mirror. I stared at the 'new' me for quite some time, feeling quixotic and subsequently, very stupid. How could someone like John see me as anyone better than a low-life, a princess of scum?

But the fact was, he was leaving, and taking me with him. Where would we go?

A thought hit me_. I need cash…I have some in my purse...oh..._

Panting, I came back to John. "My purse..."

He nodded. "Don't worry about it." He shut the blinds in the living room; only soft blue light crept in between the blinds, as he left the room and went into the hall. I then proceeded to follow him down the hall and out the door. I didn't bother locking it.

I wasn't ever going back; there was no _turning back_ anyhowI didn't look behind me either.

That apartment was my past, my father was my past. And there they would stay.

-

Never in a million years would I have conceived that my life would have changed forever so intensely, and so blindingly fast. My heart nearly exploded from my chest with each step we took. Down the stairs, out the front gates, onto the streets, down an alleyway, through a maze of buildings, and back onto the urban city avenues, where he approached a dark blue van. A rental I saw. He asked me if I felt up to driving it.

"It's been a while." I admitted, shrugging my shoulder. The last time I was behind the wheel was about three years prior. Usually I found myself in the _backseat_ of cars. I laughed bitterly as I went around to the driver's side, after putting my bag in the trunk.

"I trust you." He assured me.

John climbed in next to me. I looked nervously at him; he gave me an expectant nod. I buckled my self in and so did he. I must have been a natural born driver, because I took to it again very quickly.

It was like riding a bike I guess, once you learn, you never forget.

And so, with my newfound confidence, John then began to give me directions. I can't write them here, in fear that this could get out of my hands, and whoever is reading this might try and find the hideout themselves. My highest recommendation is that no one attempt that.

So I'll skip that and go on to when we finally arrived at the warehouse.

It was nine in the morning. John opened the doors for me; with me carrying my small bag of possessions, we'd walked through a seemingly endless maze of halls and down staircases. I soon grew tired of the walking and of the restricted light sources in the dreary passageways. I stayed close behind John as he led me further and further. I estimate that about ten minutes had gone away when we came upon his lair. I braced myself, and at the same time, I relaxed. At this moment, there was nothing to fear, it was just John.

My mentor, my guide, my hero.

He pushed open the doors, and a draft hit my already icy body; I smelled something faintly medicinal and another something that was like sawdust. It was a wide, airy room with divided sections; the entire room itself was obviously once used for storage. A part he pointed out to me was my own; it was separated by a partition and a long burgundy curtain. I assumed there was a bed behind it. I gave John a long stare as he went over to the worktable where he did his designs.

"John?" I put my bag down and I came over to him where he sat at the table.

He looked up from his papers and we made eye contact with me, like we were equals.

"I'm not sure how this works..." I gestured around the room, shrugging in uncertainty.

"When you understand that this is my life's work, and that it is too imperative to be ended with the life that is eluding me as we speak, then you'll understand why you are here." He went back to his designs.

I sighed, waving my hand at him. "You speak in riddles John. I just don't know what to do with myself around you, I feel so small." I turned to walk off; feeling the red hot burn in my cheeks as he suddenly grabbed my arm, turning me around.

"Don't think for a second that there's anyone on the planet who can tell you they're better. Or more intelligent, or well known, or successful; because all those attributes mean nothing when all you really need in the world is a healthy survival instinct. Think, Rivielle. How many people do you know have your will to endure?"

We were much too close; I suppressed the urge to close that space.

"When you begin to think about that...you'll have all the self esteem you need. Self-hatred has brought on the downfall of millions."

He let go, and calmly went back to his work. I stood there, frozen in the exact same spot, replaying the last scene over and over again in my head like it was a movie.

Eventually, I joined him; sitting next to him at the table, and I watched him work. He tinkered with a few pieces of metal and wood. Sometimes, he wrote notes next to his sketches. When he wasn't looking, I scanned the cluttered table and spied a list with names and addresses. Mine was at the very top, an asterisk next to it. I smiled knowingly and then continued to gaze at him, pensively. Wondering what thoughts meandered through his extraordinary mind…and if small thoughts of _me_ could have had any chance of making their way in. Every now and then, John would glance up at me and he would either ask me to get him something (to which I would excitedly oblige) or he would simply stare at me momentarily, leaving me utterly blank with delirium.

Looking back on that day now, I think it was the most peaceful between us. If someone had told me that within the next year, John would be dead, I would have called them a filthy liar, and beat them within an inch of their life for speaking such a thing.


	6. Mark

Sometime later in the day, John left his desk and told me to stay in the building. He said he would be back as soon as possible, and that I shouldn't wander. He told me that the bathroom was in the next room, and that he'd left some things for me in my small area across the room.

"Where are you going?" I stood, leaning my head to the side, and knitting my brows. A confused puppy would give the same look.

"A few places. Just keep yourself occupied, try not to touch anything just yet." He went out through the doors; I listened as his footsteps became gradually silenced.

Sighing deeply, I crossed the room, and peaked behind the curtain that was supported by a divider, making a recess in the wall. Nothing very interesting was behind the curtain, just a twin bed, a heater, and a small dresser. On the dresser was a hairbrush, a toothbrush and a nail clipper. I was grateful for this little cubicle I could call my private area.

I closed the curtain, crossing the room again and grabbing my black plastic bag with all my belongings, and went back, placing it upon the bed. Very carefully, I folded everything and put it away, into the dresser. I took my time as I was sure John would not be returning too soon.

When that was done, I went in search of the bathroom. I went through the double doors and looked to my right, there it was. I opened the door and went in. It was clean, and smelled of the pink soap that you usually see in public restrooms. There was a towel on the rack next to the shower. I washed my face in the sink, and then noticed, while looking in the mirror, a purplish bruise forming on the side of my neck. I thought back to my old life, when I'd run from my attacker-

John.

-fearing for my life. I'd lost track of time for a while, deep in reflection, enclosed in the bathroom. A kaleidoscope of thoughts ran through my mind.

_All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream._

_Cherish your life._

_I believe in you._

_**THUMP.**_

I instantly snapped out of my trance. John was back.

Quickly opening the door, I rushed out to greet him, instead I was confronted by a man half his age and twice his build. Frozen, we both were taken aback by the sight of each other. He was holding a gun; he was also wearing a police badge. The latter frightened me much more than the first.

I choked on my own scream; taking off at full speed, I could hear him behind me as I tore down the hall, further and deeper into the passages. I was headed in the opposite direction of the double doors; at this point I was trying to get out of the warehouse the way John and I had come. With no trail of breadcrumbs in this maze, I was finding myself utterly lost. I heard him call out-

"HEY!" He was following me.

I looked back once and not watching where I was going, crashed into someone else. I fell backwards, slamming my head on the floor. The impact was a hard thump sound. In a daze, the world was spinning painfully and I was staring directly at the ceiling blurrily, through eyes that were no doubt glazed over.

I fought to stay in the conscious world. Someone heaved my torso upwards, and dragged me backwards. Two voices above spoke low to each other.

"Stop…" I groaned. "…where…John"

I heard doors open, I was abruptly cold. I was lifted up and carried some distance. I heard a curtain make a swoosh sound and then I was set down on a soft cushiony thing. So deeply lulled by the warmth of the heater, the dull throbbing of my head, and the comfort of what I was supported by, my already squinted eyes closed fully and did not open again for some time.

-

The smell of garlic and tomato woke me. I sat up first before I opened my eyes, and when I did, found that I had been sleeping in the bed. My head no longer overtly pained me, so I tested it's seriousness by touching the spot. There was a small lump that was sensitive and sore. I swung my legs over and tried to stand up from the bed. My body didn't hurt and so I stretched, cracking the bone in the side of my neck. Listening, I could hear John speaking on the other side of the curtain. My stomach made an angry noise, and I placed a hand over it.

I stepped out gingerly from behind my divider; my eyes, still adjusting to the light focused on John's worktable, where he sat, _next to the cop_. Before I could react, John spoke. "Rivielle, do not be afraid."

I skittered back cautiously, "Who's he?!" I pointed at the man with the defined chin bones and hard stare. I had run from him, falling when I collided with John as I tried to get away.

"This is Detective Mark Hoffman. He works with me from time to time." John introduced him to me. I waited.

"Detective…this is my protégé."

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, smoldering in my face and creating a blush. Mark stood from his place next to John and came over to me. He held out his hand, and I received it, glancing nervously at John.

"How do you feel? That was a nasty fall." Mark smiled wryly. I felt stupid.

John looked up at me, waiting for my answer.

"I…I'm fine. Just…a little dizzy."

Mark then suggested I join them for lunch. Across the room was another table, it held serving dishes with various Italian foods. Pizza, ziti, breadsticks. I agreed, seeing as I was close to starved.

We ate, John and me in silence at first. Mark paused every few moments to ask me questions. I tried my best to answer, but he was very intrusive.

"When, exactly did you first become involved in your…previous occupation?"

I choked a little on my garlic breadstick. Coughing, I righted myself. "What?" He'd just met me. How very bold of him, and strange. Had John told him of me? Had he even…helped John trap me?

"When. Did. You. Start. Turning. Tricks?" He stared me down. It was a cold, critical stare.

I glanced at John nervously; he nodded at me, telling me it was okay to talk, as long as I wanted to. I didn't want to.

But Mark was so intimidating.

I mumbled under my breath- "Seventeen." I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Where was he going with this?

"Do you feel you've learned?"

Without hesitating, I answered- "Yes."

"Learned what?"

More confident now, I replied "I learned the true value of life. I learned how to cherish it, despite your circumstances."

"Why should you do this?" He leaned in closer from across the table, our eyes were locked stubbornly.

Unaware that I was doing so, I leaned backwards, trying to create space between us. "Because…life is short." Quoting John now – "and the time you're given…it's an illusion."

John nodded in approval. Mark was silent and obviously irritated, yet content.

When I finished eating, I cleaned up. Mark and John stayed sitting, Mark wrote down some things on a notepad while John showed him some pictures. I couldn't help watching them, the business partners. A thought hit me, was John expecting Mark to carry on the games after…I didn't want to think about it.

John needed to be here, things wouldn't feel right. If not John, then Mark would. Clearly this was the plan between them. John wasn't getting younger, and he needed Mark. I didn't support it, but who was I? I'd only just come into the picture. Who knows how long John and Mark had been planning this. I felt a lump form in my throat, a bitter gravely lump. I tried to swallow it and the pain back, but it held fast. I ran my hands through my hair trying to quiet my irregular breathing, trying to calm myself. My heart was battering my ribcage, thumping wildly like it was trying to get out. I was losing control, I needed to hide this, and I couldn't let John see me like this.

I rushed quietly out through the double doors and went to the right, finding the small bathroom again. I flew inside and locked the door. Leaning against the wall, I slid down, sitting on the floor and hugging my knees to my chest. I began to hyperventilate into my shirt. I must've sat there for ten minutes, trying to calm myself and stop the insistent quivering in my hands. Taking deep breaths, I finally found the will to stand; I turned on the sink, putting my hands under the rushing, freezing water. I cupped my hands and let them fill up, I splashed my face. I wished I'd brought my toothbrush so I could've used it. I resolved to do it later, before bed.

Someone knocked on the door. "It's Mark."

I unlocked the door, and opened it; he stood just a few inches from the door.

I tried to step out, he stopped me.

"Are you alright?" He looked like he was evaluating me.

"Yes. I'm fine." I folded my arms, turning and leaving.

I could feel his hard, serious eyes on me. I half sprinted back through the double doors.

-


	7. Scout

-

Mark returned to the warehouse three times a week. Gradually, I began to loathe seeing him walk through the doors smugly, as if he felt he were a noble citizen, that he was doing a great service to his community. He probably thought he deserved a medal, or the key to the city. Once, he even smiled at me when I brushed past him to get John a pencil. I came close to stabbing the pretentious prick with it.

One night, after he'd left, I expressed my intense feelings to John.

"I mean, who does he think he is?!" I began to pace, John studied me warily.

"He doesn't run the show, John." I stopped pacing, and stood in front of him, on the other side of the desk where he sat.

He stared at me, with an expression similar to a parent of a tantrum-throwing child, and they're waiting for them to realize what's below the surface.

"And who does?" He questioned, the corners of his lips almost turning up into a smile.

I almost laughed, "Don't you?"

He was serious now, "We all do our part. No man is an island."

I huffed, "Tell that to _him_."

"Rivielle." John was cautioning me. Intent on respecting his opinion, I sat across from him, willing to grasp whatever he would teach. He stared at me for an endless time; hands folded. I wanted to reach out and hold one, but I restrained myself.

"I hoped you would understand what I was trying to teach you about emotion. You remember your second test…"

I nodded, not daring to take my eyes away from him.

"In order to fully have a grip on the stressful world you've always lived in, Rivielle; you must become detached. You must be the epitome of indifference towards your opponents. In order to teach lessons, this is who you must become. You don't want Detective Hoffman to have control over you, correct?"

I frowned, glowering fiercely at the mention. "Of course not."

"Then take control of yourself, and know that he cannot intimidate you unless you allow him to." John then read my mind, and reached across the table to place a hand on mine.

A small sound escaped me; it was one of surprise and joy. I smiled warmly at him.

"However, emotion is natural. There is nothing wrong with expressing it, but know that it is to be reserved, for the right moments. People don't cry, or laugh every single time they feel the urge to do so. Reserved people go farther. What it boils down to, is…I want you to utilize self control. You've already proved that you have it, now use it."

He stood, giving me one more glance before walking through the double doors.

-

Later that night, John and Mark went out, John didn't tell me exactly where he was going, and I didn't mind. If John felt I didn't need to know, then where was the sense in prying? I watched them leave, holding my arms and trying desperately not to leer as Mark gave me one last look before following John out.

"Sickening." I hissed after him, low enough for him not to hear, but so I would feel better.

Bored, I walked around the room about three times, thinking to myself, pondering John's next move. Honestly, just pondering John in general. I picked through a few of his magazines and books, The Pit and The Pendulum, Engineering Monthly, The Masque of The Red Death. The stories of a man tormented by _long intervals of horrible sanity_…and yet, so beloved, even to this day. Remembered, for more than a century after his death.

I hoped they would remember John.

-

I awakened sometime in the middle of the night to John returning. I heard the rustle of him shrugging out of his jacket, and the chair being pushed out and in from the desk. Briefly, I thought about getting up and talking with him, but I decided against it. Instead, I listened intently for five minutes, and then eased back into a dreamless slumber.

Mark woke me up again in the morning. Ugh, anyone but him. I'd rather wake up to another trap.

"Are you hungry?" He asked, sitting in a chair next to my bed, waiting for me to rub the sleep from my eyes. I stared at him intently, and suspiciously. "Not particularly…"

He shrugged and fell back into his chair, exasperated.

"Where's John?" I demanded of him.

Mark let out a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was annoyed, I was…deeply satisfied with myself. "Just, come with me for one. hour. Nothing's going to happen to you. Scouts honor."

Standing, I folded my arms, and raised an eyebrow at him. I glared at him for a long while, considering the situation. There was obviously a reason for this, except the reason itself wasn't very clear.

I threw my hands up in defeat, "Fine. But, I get to choose where we go."

He nodded.

When I was ready, we walked down the chilly halls of the warehouse, I hugged my jacket close. He glanced at me.

"You know Detective; you never struck me as a boy scout." The sound of our footsteps was followed by the low chuckle that escaped from him.


	8. Amanda

"I'm driving." I sharply informed Mark when we got to his black 2006 Chevy Impala.

He opened his mouth to protest, but I was quick.

"Or…I could just go back and wait for John…that's what I was planning to do anyway-"

I turned and walked off; he rushed up, stopping me. "Alright, alright." He ushered me back to the car, handing me the keys. I smiled, triumphantly.

We drove smoothly and silently on this autumn day, almost 10:00 am, it was nearing Thanksgiving. Children kicked piles of leaves on their sidewalks, orange and brown decorations were stuck up on store windows, turkeys and pilgrims. No Native Americans, which I thought was inexcusable. The air held a chill; the atmosphere of the car was far colder. Mark stared out his window; I kept my determined eyes on the road. _I'm in control._ I told myself. _My emotions will not control me._ I was sure of it.

I turned onto a street; the diner was on the left side. I double parked; something I hated doing, but was forced to as there were no available spaces nearby. I was also now too hungry to sit around and wait for someone to leave theirs. "What are you doing?" Mark, clearly irritated questioned me, "You can't double park, I hate to state the obvious, but that's illegal."

I blinked. "So?"

"I'm a cop…" He looked as if he was embarrassed. He should've been.

I pointed, laughing at him, "says the Jigsaw apprentice!" I broke out in fits.

He groaned, getting out on his side, slamming the door in frustration. I followed his lead, for now. We walked into the diner; I, struck by the upbeat feel of it. The waitresses, all young and beautiful, serving people who looked the equivalent. Whitney Houston's 'I Wanna Dance With Somebody' was fading from above, followed by something I didn't recognize immediately, but was obviously by The Beatles. It wasn't until Mark and I were seated and looking at menus, that I realized, "Hey Jude."

"What?" Mark gave me a look.

I shook my head, "No, nothing."

He ordered a cheese omelet, coffee, water.

I had French toast, milk, water, with lemon.

During the meal, I asked him why we were here. He gave me a blank stare, chewing mutely.

Ten minutes dragged on, and then he was paying the check. I was gazing blankly out the window. Something snapped my trance.

"Sir?"

I saw a regular looking guy, another waiter perhaps. He was talking to Mark.

"That your car out there? Black Impala, right?"

"Yes…"

"Well, it's getting towed."

-

_This is all your fault. _

_Lets go._

Mark and I walked three blocks to the bus stop. The police had towed his car, ironically.

"Just wait until they realize who owns the car." I scoffed. Mark walked fast; I had to give some effort to keep up.

He stopped, "You do grasp the fact that _you're_ the one who parked illegally?"

I rolled my eyes. We rode the bus for twelve minutes and got off approximately six blocks away from the warehouse. It was drizzling; the real rain would be coming in any moment. I made no effort to shield myself from the water flecks; I simply walked in a straight line, making myself as nonchalant as ever.

He opened the large front door for me and then we walked through the maze of tunnels to get to the workroom. We found it empty, and dark; but I could tell that people had been here since we left. Mark's hair was damp, he didn't seem to notice. He put his jacket behind a chair and sat in it.

I shook my head, greatly disappointed over John. And it wasn't what he did; it was exactly what he _didn't _do. He came back, but he didn't wait for me. I so I did; I fell down on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, listening to Mark rustle his papers. Eventually I settled into a mid-day nap. There really wasn't much to do around here, as John kept me in the dark about many things. To protect me I suppose. Unbeknownst to me, as I sighed tired breaths in my sleep, John returned, with _another _guest.

-

Mark shook me about fourty minutes later,

"Get up." He ordered.

I pulled out of his grasp and rolled onto my side, my back to him. "Leave me alone."

"John's here."

Still half asleep, I hopped up; rushing past him and out from behind my divider, hearing John's voice but not connecting it with the sight before me.

Suddenly, I took it in. I stopped short, skidding to a halt. My breath caught sharply in my tightened throat; my skin seemed to be too hot for my body. I could've been having an allergic reaction. At least that's what it felt like.

John stood next to a pallid, fragile looking woman with short, brown hair and defeated eyes. Eyes that were similar to my own, once upon a time. They resembled the expression I once possessed when I stared into the mirror at the newborn staring back. The reality of her kept spinning around my head.

_She's been reborn-_

_She's been reborn! Like me…_

Forcing myself not to stare at her too long, I glanced at my shaking hands, willing them to stop, I began to wring them.

John cleared his throat. I caught the message.

I choked out- "Hello." Our eyes met for barely a second. I wanted to go back to sleep, where I wouldn't have to face my demons.

John sat; the woman looked around anxiously. She looked like the walls were closing in on her.

"Amanda. Meet Rivielle. Rivielle, meet Amanda."

Awkwardly, I shook her hand. Not knowing what else to do, I, standing directly in front of her, studied her. That must have made her feel very uncomfortable, but I didn't care. All I wanted to do was find some logic behind this. With John, everything was just another test. He would keep experimenting with me until there was no longer an imperfect soul behind my eyes, until I was ready to be set free.

Apparently, _Amanda_ was just one more guinea pig. I should've known that one subject alone would have never satisfied his thirst for knowledge.

-

"Aren't I good enough, John?" I inquired sharply.

Amanda was asleep on a futon that Mark prepared for her. Mark, now politely waited outside the workroom, giving John and I some privacy.

"You know as well as I, that you've always been good enough." John spoke smoothly, no tense edge in his voice, like mine.

"You've surely been doing a good job of proving that to me. I mean, that little outing with Mark wasn't enough to make me forget that you had just disappeared for four hours and then you just pop up with… her! Just….JUST _prove_ it to me!" My voice broke. I trembled, fiercely fighting my emotions.

"Be honest with yourself. What is this really about? Prove something to _yourself._" John stared wearily at me.

Determination fueled me. In an instant, time stopped and I was a thermometer, being heated to the breaking point.

I walked around the table, sitting so that I was at level with him.

"John." I looked away. I decided I was right in being honest. After all, he'd asked me to be.

I buried my face in my hands, partly in embarrassment, partly in fear.

"I'm in love with you."

Fear, that is, of rejection.

-

"What the fuck happened in there?" Mark had reluctantly followed me after I stormed out of the warehouse.

I tried to break into a jog, but that didn't serve me as I had no idea where I was about to go. I heard his approach, and I quickly spun around to face him. We were now four blocks away.

"You wouldn't understand! Nobody does! Not even John! It's like he doesn't care about how I feel about him!" I shoved him in teary frustration. He was strong, and therefore, didn't budge. He simply snatched my wrists and held onto them firmly, staring me in the eyes as if he were looking for something beyond them. Angry that I had no noticeable effect, I pulled myself away, turned and started speed walking to the next block.

"How do you know that?! Do you think you're the only one who's ever loved someone so much that it hurts all the time? I'm sick and tired of your bullshit!" Mark continued following me.

"I opened myself up, and all he can say is, 'This is neither the time nor the place'-" I mocked his serious tone. "It's not as if we have all the time in the world!"

I stopped walking, and turned to Mark again. "You have no idea how that feels, I don't think you know the meaning of rejection, Mr. Big Important Detective!" The wind was fierce; I regretted not bringing a jacket.

He scoffed, "Yes. I do."

"Sure, whatever you say, Mark." I started walking again. Slower now.

"Look. Don't act as if you haven't rejected _me_." His words were careful, he sounded like he had been thinking it over, what he would say.

"What?" I came closer, to face him. We stood on the sidewalk, in the bitter cold, the sun was disappearing gradually. I could only read the intensity of his expression. I thought back apologetically to my extreme contempt for him.

"I worry about you everyday. Ever since John first told me we were going to help you. I had only ever seen you in pictures, though...but then I met you in person and was able to speak to _you_. The living breathing version. The one who was reborn, no longer a slave to society. I had the greatest expectations for you, the way you handled every situation that was thrown at you. You reminded me of my sister, except you weren't my _sister_…"

Before I could retort, he leaned downwards swiftly and grabbed my forearms, holding them tightly, not painfully, but restraining me effectively, and long enough for him to crash his lips down upon mine.

-


	9. Choose

I responded in a strange way, both grudgingly and passionately. As I groaned against his lips, I could feel a stifled protest rising in my throat, and apparently, so could he; because he promptly pulled me even nearer. Seeing no other way out, I let him hold my arms down and eagerly kissed back; then proceeded to deliberately bite him,_ hard_. When he released my arms in shock, I shoved him back as hard as I could try; gasping for air.

He massaged his mouth, his expression deeply annoyed.

"Why did you do that?!"

My chest was heaving, and my fists balled; "I was _just_ about to ask you the same thing!"

He showed me the little drop of blood on his hand; he had wiped it from his bottom lip.

"Unnecessary." He complained.

I scoffed, "Then maybe next time you'll leave my arms free, so I can decide what _I_ want."

"You don't know what you want."

I folded my arms, "Excuse me?"

Just before I started working up my argument, Mark grabbed my wrist and led me into the video store on the corner. He pulled me down the last aisle, towards the back of the store. Ironically enough, this was the Horror/Science Fiction section. Backing me into a corner; he made sure I was going to listen. He pointed at me.

"You act as if you _want_ to spend your time fawning over John, while he never returns your affections."

"I can show him how to love." I stubbornly retorted, easing myself out of the corner.

Mark looked exasperated. "He can't love you! Think of it like this: He's a professor, you're a student. It's prohibited for the two of you to have a romantic relationship. However, _I_ am simply your peer; a student, like you."

He leaned in closer, as if to try once more. I skittered backwards, now facing the Comedy aisle.

"No. You're a teacher's assistant." I scanned the room for any possible eavesdroppers.

Mark laughed quietly, not taking his eyes off me.

"Come with me." He offered. "You don't have to take that anymore, you won't have to suppress your feelings. Anything you feel, you can just release it. Stay with me, I have room for you; I'll just...I don't know...I'll tell John you ran off."

"You're _supposed_ to be helping him, not trying to lure his students away, with promises of _love_. " I spat. "I barely know you."

"As if you know John any better."

"Of course I do. I love everything about him."

"No you don't! You love the thought of him being your _savior_." He was adamant.

"I'm going back to him. I owe him that much…I owe him _everything_."

"You listen to me." He grabbed my upper arm. "I helped get you into your first trap. ME. _I'm _the one who let you go before being truly tested. And I was reprimanded for it, but I couldn't bear to see you like that, not while you were still so fragile. And _I'm_ the one who found your father. Me. 'Mr. Big Important Detective'. So whatever you think you owe John…you owe me at least 1/3 of 'everything'."

I deliberated, very nearly choosing neither. I still had the option of living on my own again, facing the separation anxiety, the panic attacks, and of course my still pumping heart being ripped out slowly.

John, my very stability. He thought of me when nobody else did, or cared to. He held the first thoughts of my salvation before even I. Worked out the process of helping me, sheltering me and rehabilitating me. He had faith in me, when I didn't have faith in myself. Saw the real me, when I couldn't. What I felt: Overwhelming loyalty, and yet, bitterness for the utter refusal of my love. Mark, besotted, barely knowing me the better half of a year, never meeting me in person beforehand. Now ready to whisk me away from the perils of what may lie ahead, and to shield me from unrequited love. What I felt: uncertainty, and yet, incredibly tempting security.

I could _never_ choose.

And Mark was still waiting for my answer.

-

We walked in silence, both wanting to speak but not really finding the words; we walked to the place that I had decided to go. It was night now, but Mark knew the way. He walked ahead of me; I was perfecting my words in my head, for when they actually did come out. By the time I was sure of what I would say, we had already gotten there.

Mark opened the door for me, I walked in cautiously.

Mark asked me to sit and wait, I did.

I waited patiently for a little over ten minutes, Mark returned with exactly who I wanted to speak with. I stood up quickly.

"John."

He nodded at me, as if he were already aware of what I was going to tell him.

"I'm not even asking you to _like_ the fact that I even have the tiniest bit of affection for you. I've passed that already…" I shifted my weight nervously. Mark was staring at me with unmoved eyes.

"…what I want is simple, I just want you to say, just once, for me…I want you to say that I am worthy…because I feel-"

"No Rivielle. You _don't_ feel, remember?"

"…then I know, I know that I have come so far –thanks to you- and I deserve it. Or else…I'll be forced to g-go. I'm begging you to acknowledge me. _Tell me_ that I deserve you, even if you can't love me."

John considered briefly, "You deserve everything I can give, and I _am_ capable of love, however, such is out of the question, in our case."

My eyes stung, "But _why?_"

"I'm sure Mark has already explained it to you, I see you as my student, and to cloud the mind of my pupil with a fruitless fantasy would be an injustice… a disservice to you. And everything you can be."

-

"You're the poster child for Stockholm Syndrome." Said Mark, sitting idly next to me in the chair beside my bed, where I sat Indian style. Just because I hadn't returned his affection the way he would like, didn't mean I couldn't be his friend, considering I knew how he worried.

John had since stepped out with Amanda; I had given her a cold stare as they walked out. She was muttering something to him about a bathroom.

"I don't _feel_ brainwashed." I said, sarcastically. I almost laughed.

"That's the point…" He mumbled.

I was silent; I placed my elbow on my thigh and held my face up with my hand.

"It's cold in here." He said, reaching over me and turning on the heater on my right side.

"Thanks…"

He nodded. "Can I ask you something?"

"Depends." I eyed him carefully.

"What does he have that I don't?"

"Who? John?"

He nodded sternly.

"Its not exactly easy to explain."

"Not good enough." He retorted, irritation laced his tone.

"Maybe it's just my baby chick complex…" I murmured.

"What?"

"It's just something I've been thinking about… You know how when a baby chick first hatches into life, it becomes immediately attached to the first thing it sees? Thinking they're its mother…"

He mused over that for a while, "If what you're saying is true, then...if you had merely _met_ me first, you would've developed all that for me?"

I shrugged. "It's just a theory."

I could tell he was bitter about the whole thing, and yet barely willing to let it show. It's like when you lose a game of tennis, or any sport for that matter; showing good sportsmanship towards your opponent can earn you points. And in no way would he take it out on John. So he would stay quiet and I would offer some extra points.

I then leaned over and kissed his cheek. He was completely still for a moment, and when I pulled away, he held my hand; not giving me the same effect that John could, but comforting, all the same.

-


	10. Flame

The next morning Mark brought me breakfast, not surprisingly. But I ate contentedly, all the while knowing that I had screwed up in too many ways. We sat in the workshop, on opposite sides on the table trying to bear the fierce tension.

"I should have never said anything at all."

Mark looked up at me; the countenance he wore was apologetic.

"Don't beat yourself. I often feel I shouldn't have said anything to you…but I'm glad I did."

"Why's that?"

"Everybody deserves a chance; A chance to know what's going on inside the people around them. You needed to know the truth."

"Honestly, I didn't. I think I was fine before you twisted everything."

"Oh come on, we both know that if I didn't divert your attention while you were having your little fit over John, you would've wound up back in that little bathroom, slumped down against the wall, having another panic attack. Don't think I didn't know."

"If you recall, I was _having _that panic attack _because_ of you."

"Amusing...I have some effect on you. So much for controlling your emotions."

I rose swiftly and walked off towards my partition, my back to him, I replied smartly:

"You couldn't affect me if you tried." Oh, it had become such a game.

Thinking back now, I guessed that his pride on that matter overwhelmed him. I should've known Mark to be someone who liked to be in control; to be able to get the best of people, John knew that too. Do I regret provoking him? Not a Mark was up, and holding me. Though he held me securely, I wasn't struggling. And just before he leaned in completely, he gave me some space to decide; unlike before when he'd forcibly kissed. He was fighting with his sense of control, and I had only seconds to decide. I understood well that ever action has its consequence. Every kiss has its after-thought. Every emotion has its smoldering embers. Nothing can burn forever, I knew.

And so, taking advantage of my flame, I closed the gap between us with a quick breath and a low moan.

He let go of my shoulder and then held my hand with his right one, lacing our fingers together; I put my free hand on the back of his neck, and we intensified. My whole body trembled as his warm breaths beguiled me. I surrendered under him, his figure pressing me against the wall. I wondered briefly and excitedly how far we could take this. And when he led me into my room, my question was answered.

"Mark." My voice came breathlessly. I turned my head off of his eager lips, "Hold on."

"Hmm?" Not much of a sound escaped from him as his kiss trailed to my neckline. I nearly forgot what I was about to say. It took all my power to pull myself out of his grip and speak.

"Do you wanna wait for a second?"

He picked his head up, "To be very honest, no." I grinned, looking away.

"I…" I hesitated, embarrassed. It was so hard to be intimate with honest feelings. It was always much easier to lay on my back, shut up and close out the world. Face to face with someone that was truly growing on me? I didn't know how to handle it. Sex without love was undoubtably easier. "I've never done this with somebody who wasn't going to pay me. I'm having some trouble...letting go."

He considered, "I'm sorry?"

"Don't tell me you forgot…" I pulled away completely, the blood rose in my cheeks hotly.

"I didn't, I just… didn't see you as that person anymore. The old you."

I did't know exactly how to thank him for what he had just said, but was the first time I had really felt renewed and relieved of my past.

-

When John returned, he was with Amanda. Calling me aside, he asked if I would accompany him in preparing a game. With no wavering, I accepted. Grinning broadly as I followed John, I looked back to see Mark and Amanda coming with us outside. We all climbed into a van that was parked in back, this I could tell, was also a rental. In the back were supplies unknown to me, but John had said they were crucial to the game. Mark drove while John, who was in the passenger's seat, instructed Amanda and I on our jobs. So far, Amanda was to be dropped off at someone called Adam's apartment, Mark was supposed to be left at a different location and to get another person for John's game. Much to my elation, John and I would stay together.

We dropped off Mark first, at a parking lot. He was to kidnap the doctor and then drive his car to John and mine's destination. I got out of my backseat next to Amanda, so that I could drive. Mark and I exchanged glances as we passed; his fingers grazed mine subtly and quickly as we passed, brushing against one another. Glancing back momentarily, I hopped into the front seat, driving Amanda to her stop. John gave her instructions once more and then she was gone, hurrying into the apartment complex. I briefly mused over the look she gave John. Her brown, insipid eyes, lingered on his. Her stare sometimes spoke such volumes. I envied the way she could tell John so much without saying anything at all. Then my foot was on the gas and we were smoothly on our way to the game location. A sense of pride and usefulness stirred my restless being. It soothed my feelings of worthlessness.

I drove off, listening intently to John tell me about a man named Zep Hindle.

-

By the time John and I arrived, I was filled in on everything John, Amanda, and Mark had been planning. We were near what looked like a factory of sorts, you couldn't actually call it a house; it was an industrial kind of residence, where I knew nobody could possibly live. Steel and bricks lined the outside as a barrier; it looked more like a prison.

We were traveling through the corridors, deeper and deeper down. It was such a labyrinth; it reminded me of the warehouse that I called home. Finally we came to a huge metal sliding door, and John introduced the room to me.

"This is where we play our game." He began to slide the door, it slammed open. It was a wide space, much larger than where I played my own.

He flicked on the light; it was an intense white light that forced my retinas to adjust painfully. What I was looking into was what seemed to be bathroom in serious need of remodeling.

"Describe what you see to me in one word." John and I walked into the bathroom.

I thought momentarily, not wanting my answer to be depthless. Despite seeing the two chains on the pipes that were obviously meant for someone to be locked up with, I said:

"Liberation."

"Why do you say so?"

"Because, if one of them wins this game, they'll be set free from the ties that bind. The irony is that, in order to let loose their chains they'll have to hurt themselves. Instead of pleasing themselves in order to be bound to their ways."

For the first time in what seemed like forever and ever, John startled me by smiling warmly. I exhaled happily.

-

After some painting with glow-in the dark paint, I prepared the box for the doctor. After placing the card and the two cigarettes inside, as well as the cell phone that only received calls; I placed the box inside the wall and sealed it up. Just as I finished doing so, the sliding door slammed open and Amanda struggled in, dragging the unconscious body of Adam, one of our test subjects. The voyeur. He was boyishly handsome, moreover…sweet-faced. His dark hair swept a little across his forehead. I looked down at his unnaturally posed body, pitifully. I could see the same look in Amanda's eyes.

I helped her bring him over to his chain and she locked him into place. He did not stir.

She told John how she had to look for Adam's car keys after he was knocked out, and was afraid she'd left any fingerprints. John seemed indifferent. Shortly thereafter, Mark arrived with the doctor. The adulterer. Mark had little trouble dragging him in, and so I didn't help. Instead, I moved out of the way, closer to John, who was finishing up his fake blood and wound makeup. Honestly, I had to hand it to him; this game was far more complex than any I had known from him.

And I was worried it wouldn't play out the way we intended.

Taking a look at the doctor that Mark was fettering, with sudden disbelief, I realized I knew the man. His pallid skin and blond hair that lay flat on his head. Not being able to take my eyes off him, I decided to myself, that I wouldn't let on that I did. It's not as if the outcome of the game affected me personally. Besides, as with every subject, John taught over and over again that we must be emotionless. Emotions distract one from what must be done, and tells them they should do what they feel.

And when I snapped out of my thoughts, Mark was beside me, trying to figure out what I was seeing as I stared down at Dr. Gordon's limp body.

"He prescribed me sleeping pills once." I whispered to Mark. Looking behind my shoulder a little to see Amanda emptying Adam's pockets of anything that would jeopardize the rules.

He looked at me, "Really?"

I nodded. "Just after John spoke with me. I had a hard time sleeping for a while…"

Mark patted my back and then went to empty the doctor's pockets as well.

I kneeled next to him and watched. Mark took out a little box of tick-tacks and the doctor's cell phone. He reached into the other pocket and pulled out a small black wallet, opening it. Mark said John intended to leave that, as well as a photo of Gordon's wife and child; bound and gagged, with the word 'Regards' written in unsophisticated black marker. Mark showed the photo to me. I frowned, shaking my head disapprovingly, the little girl had to be no older than 7.

"What good does that do?" I couldn't help thinking of the doctor's reaction once he saw the photo.

"If John wants this guy to play well, he'd better be angry and frightened enough to do so. This will help." Mark placed it in back of another picture of the doctor's little girl. I wondered if she was alright, if she would _be_ alright. Little girls need their dads, take it from me.

Then, once Mark and Amanda had discarded the materials they took from the players pockets, John was ready. I couldn't control my fast-paced heartbeats as John began to inject his arm with the chemical that would slow his heart, giving the impression that he was dead. The tapes and recorders were in place, the bullet in Gordon's pocket, and the saws inside the toilet lid. The players were in position, Adam's key in the filled bathtub where he sat. I had leaned him at an angle so that he would soon slide into the water, waking him up. John was lying in the fake pool of poisoned blood, holding the gun and the tape recorder. I was the last one to leave, wishing John luck and waving goodbye as I turned off the light and shut the door.


	11. Saw

Sometimes I would be in a natural position, like reading a book, or lying down, or in the shower; and I would wish that I had died in my first trap. Wish that the anxiety and fear had overwhelmed me and I would have ceased breathing. Living with John was either the most stressful experience of my life, or the most satisfying.

And so, I didn't know what would be more comforting, living, or dying.

Sometimes I would wish those things and then I would look around and see the most confusing and pleasing relationships I'd ever been in. Which was strange for a person like me, one who never knew a family, never felt accepted.

I closed the heavy metal sliding door and felt all of those things and more as I hurried away towards Mark and Amanda; they led the way out of the maze of corridors. I had gained an immense respect for the both of them, having worked together with them, as well as sharing a common goal.

Amanda, silent and distrusting, made no eye contact with us and went her own way once we were out.

"Hey!" I called her as she went; she stopped wearily and turned to face me.

"Why not wait with us?" I gestured to Mark and me, "We're…cool now, right?"

"I don't make friends." She replied coldly, leaving the scene quickly, her head looking around rapidly, as if some nervous animal. I watched her make her way down the street where the bus ran. It was still early enough for her to get anywhere on this side of town safely.

I had no response for this; instead I turned my back on her and went again towards Mark.

"So, what now? Do we just wait everything out at home?" I thought aloud, apprehensively.

"Depends on where home is for you. That workshop isn't my home."

"Well, it's mine." I shrugged, staring at the van wondering if I should leave at all. If I should simply bide my time in the park, or even wander around the city. John said the game would be over by 6:00, I thought of ways to kill time.

While I looked wistfully, I could feel Mark's warm touch against the cold air, giving me goose bumps. He touched my wrist, and then my palm and then my fingers with electricity that made me quiver.

We came to the van, Mark was driving, and I sat in the passenger seat fiddling with my jacket pockets nervously. I bit my nails a little as well.

"Why is she so distant? With us I mean. She hasn't a problem getting along with John..." I inquired to Mark about Amanda.

"I seem to recall you being distant too when you were first tested. It takes a little getting used to, this new life…"

He paused. "You say 'us' as if we're an item."

I froze, trying to backtrack. "_Don't. _Don't get the wrong idea. All I meant was 'us' as in two people in the same perimeter. Not two people in a relationship. As far as I'm concerned, we're platonic." I began to gaze out the window.

"Well. I wouldn't say _platonic. _Indirect maybe, but not _platonic_." He almost grinned.

I pretended I didn't hear him, losing focus on the world as I looked dreamily out the window. And after a time, I could feel his eyes on me, but by then mine were already closed and halfway gone.

-

Mark's POV.

She passed out next to me, I couldn't blame her.

_The hell did she mean by platonic?_

That's not what I was getting from her.

She's got a pretty weird definition of the word.

I drove around for a while, stopped to grab a coffee, and bought the newspaper.

I phoned Amanda; she said she was on her way back to the game house.

I listened to the radio, read an article in the newspaper. I tried to calm myself, and kill time.

It was a little after 6:00 now, and I started driving back to the game house myself, looking over briefly and watching Rivielle's chest move up and down rhythmically. Her dark hair illuminated by the streetlights.

Once in the parking lot, I could hear the static of the walkie-talkie in my pocket. Zep was trying to reach us.

**Help, they got away!  
**

Who?!

**Them! The girl and the mother!**

How did you let that happen?!

**I don't know, I've got this cop on my tail-**

Where are you?!

**I'm running; I'm on my way to the bathroom NOW-**

I tried to respond, I tried to tell him to stop before the game was risked any further.

But the connection fuzzed and died.

The rules distinctly said, 'if the doctor doesn't kill Adam, then his family dies'. No exceptions and no substitutions.

The rules were broken now, and the game could go in any direction.

I had to observe, as well as stay out of the way which could be tricky.

Especially now that a detective was after Zep.

Leaving Rivielle to her slumber, I left her in the car and made my way up to the game house, meeting up with Amanda on the way.

"What's going on?" She looked drained.

"Zep broke the rules. He let the family get away; He's going to kill the doctor."

**-**

Rivielle POV

When I awoke, I was still sitting in the passenger seat. The car was parked in the front of the game house.

"Mark?"

_Where the hell are you? _

Opening the car door, I looked at my watch. 6:15.

With an astonished gasp, I dashed inside the building, a terror building within me.

I made a mad run through the maze inside, hearing voices grow louder and louder. Turning a corner in the hall, I could see Mark, peering through the darkness at me. We weren't too far from the bathroom now.

"What…Where- what _happened_?" I could barely finish, my breath came shallow and in huffs.

"Zep called for help, but… we lost connection." He held up a walkie-talkie.

"When was this?!"

"Maybe ten minutes ago. You were asleep…"

I could see Amanda standing near him, she looked fearful. My eyes must have reflected hers, because Mark assured me.

"John is fine, don't worry. The game is over by now; he should be coming this way shortly."

I wasn't entirely relived, but I took his word for it. Scouts honor right?

-

At precisely 6:18 pm, Mark, Amanda and I were standing in a corridor near the bathroom. We were expecting John to emerge from around the corner. And with each minute that passed we became more and more panicky.

The man who crawled from out of the darkness wasn't John. Shocked the hell out of me.

"Hellllp meeee. I need h-help…" A voice groaned. I saw a dirty, matted head of blond hair.

Amanda yelped, and instinctively, I moved in front of her; my eyes as wide as hers and my breathing becoming unsteady. Mark stood in front of both of us, his expression undeterminable in this light.

Dr. Lawrence Gordon had made it out of the bathroom. There was a scarlet trail marking his passage; there was a stump where his right foot used to be. He had created a makeshift tourniquet out of his shirt. It wasn't doing any good. His skin had a bluish tint, his bodily life force was draining quickly, and if no one assisted him, he would certainly die. He had propped himself up slightly by his elbows, crawling feebly.

I couldn't move, speak. _What was there to be done?_

_He had seen us; he knew who did this to him._

_And if we were to help him, what would happen to us?_

_He failed his game. Period. He has to die._

As these thoughts raced through me, the doctor slumped further down to the ground, weakening even faster than before. He laid his head down on the floor of the hall, his breathing slowed. He groaned, "I p-promised… I would s-send… help." And then, his body went limp in front of us.

I turned to look at Amanda; her tears were free-falling and silent. Mark handed her a napkin. I, still in shock wouldn't, or couldn't free my own bitter tears. It was possible that I didn't possess the option of crying anymore.

Instead I leaned against the wall and waited for John, closing my eyes and willing myself to have an out of body experience and be far away from here. I could hear Amanda trying to stifle her sobs as someone came walking down the hall.

Shortly after hearing the door slam in the distance and the screaming that ensued, John shuffled slightly down the hall as the effects of the drug wore off. As he got closer, he briefly noticed the cold, blue, corpse laying face down. John was covered in the fake blood, but this did not stop me from embracing him exuberantly once he came close enough.

"And the other one?" Mark asked. I couldn't see how I had forgotten about Adam; those were clearly his pleading bellows a moment ago.

I let go of John, not concerned with, and barely noticing, the blood that splotchy and morbidly decorated the front of my sweater.

"He failed." John told us, dispassionately. "Adam did not utilize the advantages in front of him, and he failed to escape."

Amanda hiccupped. "He's…is he still alive?"

"It doesn't matter." I told her sourly. "He's already dead on the inside."

-

I assessed the game in my head, although I wasn't present until the climax.

As we drove away, this was all I knew for sure:

Everyone had failed.

I wished I hadn't fallen asleep.

But the game was over now, and although I was new to this, I deemed it unsuccessful. No one had learned anything, and the ones who could possibly have learned something were dead. No reason to worry about it now. Except there was one who did.

I watched Amanda sit very still and fix her sad, faraway eyes numbly out the window. This whole thing was really getting to her. One day, I hoped, she would be tough enough to handle it…to endure.

_Why do the birds go on singing? Why do the stars glow above? Don't they know it's the end of the world…_

I liked that song, in my past life. And as I looked at Amanda; rather, _through her_, I was reminded of it. 'Life does go on' I felt like telling her.


	12. Run

"How do you think it went, John?" I leaned in closer to him from my place across the table, speaking softly. It was nearing ten at night. I threw my hair into a bun; I was freshly dressed after showering away my unease. Mark was leaning against the wall, awaiting John's answer too patiently. It may very well have been that he wasn't taking notice at all. In fact, he seemed spaced out; the focus in his eyes had faded as he stared at the floor. I almost went and snapped my fingers in front of his face. How could anybody zone out at a time like this?

Amanda was sitting on her futon, knees hugged up against her chest; she was paying close attention, a direct contrast to Mark. Easy-listening music was playing on the radio beside her, she lowered the volume and Karen Carpenter's vocals faded softly while the melody eased our moods. Amanda seemed to be feeling less stressed, I even took it upon myself to smile at her. She nodded at me, I shrugged internally. It was a start at least.

John was obviously tired; it had been a long day, after all. He had cleaned himself up; I had helped him get the last remaining pieces of the fake wounds off of him. We were all still too restless to eat, coming down from the high of it all was surreal.

"It's not a matter of how I think it went; it's all on the subject of 'what was learned from this?'. Do you think anything was learned?"

I looked to Amanda, for once, a little lost for words. They were all dead, how was I supposed to know if they had learned?

Amanda seemed to be deep in thought and I realized the question was rhetorical.

-

Amanda was asleep by midnight, John had long before retired; and now I was perfectly and unbearably awake, as I had already napped earlier. It bothered me that my sleeping pattern was off track, once again. Mark and I were at opposite ends of the room, openly angry with each other. He had been avoiding me ever since I voiced my discomfort over the term 'us'. And if he could not deal with that, then we would be at other sides of the room for quite a while.

But knowing Mark, I knew that he could not handle suffering silently for much longer, eventually he would break and tell me exactly how he felt. How strange it was to be so close to each other and not recognize one another. At least when I hated him, I still acknowledged him. So, bitterly, I went to bed, finally feeling the lull of sleep hover over my eye lids. He didn't even glance up as I left the room. I did not wish him a good night.

-

And when I got up, he wasn't around. Neither was John, I found to my intense discontentment. However, there was a shopping bag of food on the table for Amanda and me. I decided not to eat; showering instead and retiring back to my room.

Less than half an hour later, I became restless. Writing a note that would tell John where I had gone, I laced my sneakers and sprinted out through the doors. The cold autumn air hit me once I was out, and I picked up my speed. Glancing briefly at the van parked outside, I ran past it, and I continued running until I was at least six blocks away. My hair was caught by the wind and whipped wildly behind me, frustratingly; I wished I had brought a hair tie. As I ran, my reflection whizzed by store window glass, my head cleared, and my stress level lowered to a semi-healthy edge. Gradually, I slowed into a quick jog, once things started becoming unfamiliar. I started back, pacing myself this time and working back into a full run at breakneck speed. Fast enough to trick myself into flying.

-

When I returned, my lungs held air painfully; my legs were sore and wilted as I shuffled delicately through the double doors.

"Hello Rivielle." John welcomed me back. I pushed some strands of hair behind my ear, smiling at him. Amanda was sitting in a chair beside him; I noticed the pad and pencil in her pallid hands. She was sketching something for him, but she raised a hand to wave at me. We had all recently discovered her talent for trap design, and as much as I detested admitting, she was good. Really good, I had acknowledged.

"How was your run?" I heard a voice I knew to be Marks from somewhere behind me, I didn't turn to address him directly. I ran my hand through my hair absentmindedly.

"Good." I murmured. My ankles suggested otherwise, and I half-limped back to my room, where I pulled off my shoes and fell back onto my bed. I proceeded to glare at my ceiling.

I thought about napping, and then I seriously considered it. John's muffled cough broke the silence; I grew tense. Getting up, I went to him.

"Do you need anything?" Amanda asked, but I was already getting his water. She went back to her drawing, a little put off.

I handed him the small paper cup, he thanked me. I noticed Mark staring and I tried my absolute best to ignore it.

However, I find it hard to ignore someone so ineluctable.

-

"I have to talk to you."

He broke first. Apparently his pride wasn't strong enough to override his attraction.

I was curled on my bed, resembling a lazy cat. I pretended to be unconcerned.

"You can talk, there's no rule that says I have to listen." I examined my nails.

"What's been going on with you? Ever since the game you've been acting…"

He looked as if he were searching for the words.

"Intolerable? Negative? _Bitchy_?"

"Quite so."

I shrugged, looking away.

"I prefer to be aloof."

He grinned, "I think we both know that's a lie."

"_What?_"

He lowered his voice, it was barely a whisper. He did this to make sure I would listen.

"You are anything but. I don't think I've ever met anyone more in tune to their feelings, more ready to express themselves."

"You don't even _know_ me." I sat up, seething.

"I know you very well."

"Get out."

"Maybe better than John."

"I'm warning you." I eased off the bed, holding myself back.

"In fact, I think you _like_ me better. But you can't admit it to yours-"

I jumped, grabbing at him, swiping and throwing lame punches, trying my best to hurt him with such a weak frame. I looked up at him to see a small scratch just under his chin; I had gotten something out of it. I smirked. In hardly any time, he held my wrists together tightly.

_Déjà vu_, I told myself.

This time, I wouldn't allow him the satisfaction of winning. Even if his stare was penetrating my very soul, and even if my body trembled with a craze that lingered between desire and abhorrence.

He wasn't going to win this.

"I'm going to scream." I told him calmly.

"I'll make you scream." His sly grin provoked me.

"John!-" I yelled as loud as I could.

"Is out with Amanda."

"Let me go."

"Only if you really want me to."

"I do." _Did I?_

"Why should I believe that, after everything…after last time?" He shook me.

"Because you fucked with my head Mark! I've known you a total of three weeks and you went and twisted my words in the car; we're not what you think…_I'm_ not what you think." I exhaled.

"Tell me who you are then." He held fast to my wrists.

"I'm not in love with you! We're not a couple. We kissed twice; that's all there is. That's all I can allow there to be." As soon as the words escaped me, I knew it was a fatal blow.

He softened his grip. "…because?"

"Because, I can't love you knowing that John and I can never be together. It isn't fair."

"You're not being fair to me. What about everything you owe me?!" He questioned bitterly.

I yelped in frustration, "Haven't I already given it to you?! Isn't my alliance enough?!" I shook myself out of his loose grip.

"No! I can't stop thinking about you! You have no idea how hard it is to disconnect..."

Here was the breaking point.

"Of course I do..." Salt water spilled down my face. _Stop_ _crying, stop crying, stop crying._ "The fact is I can't love you both in the same way. Impossible." _Stop crying NOW. _

"Then don't love us the same. Love him like a father…" He tried to hold me, I pushed back.

"I _can't_ do that, I wanna be with him! That's like asking you to love me like your sister, you just _don't_ see me that way, get it?!"

He deliberated for a moment. His question startled me, I hadn't considered it before.

"_How_ do you love me?"

I told him the honest truth, "I'm not sure," My voice broke, the pressure of it all slammed down on me, crushing me, asphyxiating me.

We heard the double doors. John was back. The relief was so intense I could have fallen to the floor.

Mark left my space, turning only to tell me, "I'll help you figure it out."

I was sure he would.


	13. Adam

I spent the rest of the night with John, still half-heartedly evading whatever Mark planned to help me with. John was showing me some of Amanda's sketches; she was napping, snoring quietly with her blanket pulled over her head.

I flipped through a few of her drawings, some more disturbing than others. My fingers trailed over one in particular, a sketch of an iron wrought casing that would be surgically hooked into one's ribcage, I could tell from the small notes written on the side of the drawing. My eyebrows knitted in mild concern. I looked at John; he then glanced at her petite frame curled up peacefully.

"You think she's ready…for this…I mean, emotionally?" I flipped through a few more, each more grisly than the last. John's traps were never like these…

"I believe in her, as I believe in you." He paused, "I chose you both for a reason…and in the end, all the pieces will fit together."

I threw my arms around him, he did not protest.

-

Nearly an hour after I had gone to sleep, something jolted me awake. I sat up like lightning, looking in all directions; trying austerely to see through the darkness. Getting up, I went for the light switch. By some force of will, I found my way quickly and safely across the room, stumbling only once. I flipped on the light, seeing no one besides myself in the workroom. I was now genuinely frightened by the way I had woken up, seeing that there was nobody around who could have broken my sleep that way.

I looked at the clock on the wall. It was a quarter past two in the morning.

Too nervous to get back to sleep, and too tired to stand around looking at the clock, I decided to try and wake myself up. I left the workroom guardedly through the double doors, and walked a few paces slowly; I then turned left to get into the bathroom. I washed the fear off my face; leaned into the sink and took a drink. From the outside, I could hear footsteps, despite the sound of the running water before me. I turned off the water; listening hard. The footsteps were small, almost tip-toeing, and I knew this was neither Mark nor John.

I stepped into the corridor, she was startled by me.

"Amanda… It's late. What's going on, where are you going?" I hugged myself, the cold air chilled me. Or maybe it was more than that.

Her eyes were the eyes of someone haunted.

"Don't worry about it." She didn't sound malicious in any way; it was very genuine. She truly didn't want me to worry.

So I didn't worry; instead, against my better judgments of Amanda, I grew intensely suspicious. Keeping my wariness a secret, I nodded solemnly and went back towards the workroom. She hurried off in the other direction, to the exit.

I waited approximately two minutes, threw on my jacket and shoes, and I followed her.

-

Looking back now, I know why I was able to follow her undetected. I couldn't understand then, how she didn't notice, or hear anything that would've given me away. The more I think back on it, the more I shudder to put myself in her shoes and feel the overwhelming guilt she must have felt. Her sentiment so distressing that it made her unfocused, as I climbed into the back of the van from the rear. I closed the car door just as she closed hers, so she couldn't well hear the distinction between the two sounds. I crouched down, hushing my breaths and limiting my movements as she drove. Her weeping was free and audible as she believed she was alone.

At first, I couldn't think, I was just experiencing. I went with the flow, not knowing, not even caring yet. Even when she stopped the vehicle, and got out; I didn't move right away. In all honesty, I was a little scared to know where we had stopped. So, I counted to thirty, and looked up. My eyes widened as I took in our scene. She had driven to the game house.

Once I was sure she was inside, I popped open the side door of the van, hopping out.

I dashed stealthily towards the entrance, rushing inside. I heard nothing at first and then, Amanda's brisk footsteps. Afraid of the sound of my echoing footsteps which would give me away, I slowed my walking. I took off my shoes, leaving them behind, and began to walk in my socks down the cold floored hallway, making my feet like a cat's: quiet and surreptitious. I was far enough behind her that as I held my nose for the smell of the doctor's corpse, I could hear her slamming open the bathroom door. My heart stopped.

_What is she doing? _I didn't want to come any closer and give myself away. I was only a few feet from the bathroom now. I could hear her moving about inside, I heard a mumble, a groan and hushed whispers. I strained my ears to listen. After a moment, a struggle could be heard and then Amanda's muted whimpers. I battled with myself whether or not to go in there, to confront her. My hands flew to my mouth, stifling my gasp, as I heard a sickening impact; like something slamming against a hard object. And then… with sudden, ghastly disbelief, I knew what she was doing.

"_He's…is he still alive?"_

"_It doesn't matter." I told her sourly. "He's already dead on the inside."_

Immediately, I took off, grasping that I could not linger any longer, realizing what Amanda had done but not allowing it to sink in. I could only think of John, and what he would do.

And yet, it hurt to think of what John would do.

-

Once I was out of the house, shoes in hand and still running, I didn't get back into the van; instead I pulled some spare change from my jacket pocket and called Mark on a nearby payphone. It was late and I prayed he would answer.

_Come on pick up, pick up pick up-_

**Hello?**

"Mark, please…can you come get me-" My voice cracked in distress.

**Where are you? What's going on?! **His voice was urgent and troubled, but it calmed me in a strange way.

"I- I'm- I'm at the game house, I'm using a payphone, Mark this is bad. I need you to-"

**Stay where you are, I'm coming now.**

I hung up the phone, and leaned against the outside of the closed convenience store that I called from. It was very late now, the wind howled and rustled the trees near me, and it was unsettling to say the least. I exhaled deeply, watching my breath come forth like smoke. I slipped my shoes back on, having almost forgotten that I was holding them. As I bent down to lace them, I hadn't noticed the approaching shadow.

"Hey lady. Haven't I seen you before?"

I looked up, squinting at this stranger who wasn't a stranger. I had met him before, in unflattering circumstances. He held a bottle in one hand, concealed by a brown paper bag.

"I-" I choked, "I-uhm, don't think so." I was backing up now.

He grinned crookedly; I supposed he was handsome when he wasn't this inebriated. But this was the second time we met, and he was just as smashed the first time.

"Yeah, I do know you!" He was laughing now. I wondered if I could make a run for it, but my legs wouldn't move. I tried to laugh along and make the situation lessened, throw him off; but all that came out was a nervous titter that sounded more like a whimper.

"Yeaaah," He cooed, "You work out here…pretty little thing, I haven't seen you around lately, what's the going rate nowadays, sugar?" He came closer. I skittered back too fast, forgetting there was a wall behind me. He closed in on me; I was a scared block of marble.

_Stay the hell away from me-_

And then he touched me, I felt his rough palms on my cheek. It was familiar and nauseating. I shoved him with strength and courage I didn't know I had. He stumbled, dropping his bottle. It smashed on the pavement, splattering at his feet.

And right before I took off, I saw him pick up the broken neck of the bottle, its end was pointed and sharp, its green glass shone under the street light. I was running, one shoe tied and not the other. He followed me; wielding the bottle's jagged edge, yelling obscenities. I was quick and got farther away than I imagined being able to get. Up ahead, I could see car headlights. I stopped in my tracks, very aware of my attacker's proximity. He was gaining on me, and I became frantic.

"Mark!" I waved my arms in the air.

Just as he pulled up alongside me, I was knocked off my feet. Rick, because that was his name, wrapped one arm around my neck, holding the bottle to my face. He whispered something to me, I didn't hear it. All I could sense was the sight of Mark's car door opening and the sound of the gunshot.

Rick fell, releasing me. I broke away, hurrying towards Mark who held the gun, still pointed at the target. I looked back, there didn't seem to be any blood on him, and I couldn't tell where he was shot.

"Get in." Mark ushered me to the passenger seat.

I was freezing, shaken and tired. My teeth shuddered together in a small chatter. As I tried to explain everything to Mark, he turned the heat up in the car. I was worried about him. With a shooting, other police could get involved and Mark's career would be jeopardized.

"Where did you s-shoot him?" I hugged myself, staring at my feet.

Mark's eyes were focused on the road. "I shot him in the stomach." He noticed my expression. "Don't worry, it was a rubber bullet. And if this wasn't urgent, I probably would've beaten him unconscious for good measure."

I laughed; I had been fretting over nothing.

Mark looked over at me. "I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth."

I nodded.

"Are you okay?"

I shook my head.

Mark said nothing; he simply drove faster and made sharp turns, onto unfamiliar streets. I could not read his expression.

-

"Come on." He turned off his car, I got out reluctantly. I followed him up the front stairs of an apartment building. His, I supposed. We went up in an elevator, and came to his apartment. I looked around Mark's well furnished living room, he asked me to take a seat. He offered me a cup of coffee, I accepted. He shook off his jacket, hanging it in the hall closet.

As he was getting the coffee, I noticed a shiny silver frame on his fireplace mantle. It held a picture of Mark and his sister, standing together, on the shore of a beautiful body of water. They were smiling brightly, and I felt everything I was supposed to feel, deeply. Before I could begin to muse over it, he returned.

"Start at the beginning, why were you at the house?" Mark handed me the warm mug. I took it gratefully, smiling softly.

"I followed Amanda there. She looked so upset. I wanted to know what she was up to." I sipped the coffee; its heat flowed through me soothingly.

"What did she go to do?"

"I didn't know at first, I-I was confused. And then I saw her go into the bathroom. And I remembered Adam was in there." I was shaking, so I sat my mug down.

Mark was taken aback as the same thought that I had clicked in his mind.

"I think…I'm- I am sure she killed him."

"She was trying to put him out of his misery." Mark thought aloud.

I put my head in my arms, sighing with the stress. I could not tell John.

"You have to tell John."

I raised my head quickly. "I can't!"

He reached over and put a hand on my shoulder. "You've got to."

I shook him off, shaking my head frantically. "I won't hurt him. I won't see the look on his face when he realizes his work has gone to waste!"

I stood, so did Mark. He embraced me, I held him back. My arms around his neck; face buried in his shoulder. I was sobbing, and he was consoling me. "I don't think I can do this." I sniffled into him, he held me tighter. We stayed that way for a long time, consumed with each other. And then I wasn't focused on the situation any longer, I was exhausted. I glanced out the window; it was raining lightly, and could possibly become a storm soon.

I let go of him, now clinging to myself, and rubbing my eyes. "Mark, we should get back."

He didn't understand, "For what?"

It seemed very clear to me, "So I can sleep."

He shrugged, "So sleep here."

My shoulders dropped, I was torn between myself. I was so tired, and so wary. I bit my lip, considering. I nodded, taking his arm and looking at his watch. It was now a bit past four in the morning, and all I needed was five hours.

"I'll take the couch; I know you're tired." Mark offered. I assumed this meant I could sleep in his room.

"It's alright, really, I'll just crash here." I wasn't sure if I could sleep in his bed guiltlessly, even if he wasn't in it.

He had no objection. He brought me a blanket and a pillow; he even sat up with me until I drifted off.

"Mark?" I spoke gently, I was moments from sleep, and nevertheless, I had to let him know.

"Yes?" He sat near me, calmly watching me through the dim light.

"Thank you." I pronounced every syllable clearly and purposefully, so he would hear the meaning in my voice when I said I was grateful.

"For what?"

"For saving me…" I considered, "Again." I grinned.

I saw something indecipherable in Mark's cerulean eyes, and for once, John wasn't the last one to run though my mind.

-


	14. Dead

I opened my eyes; they saw the first lights of the day. The silvery blue beams shone through the curtains in Mark's living room. I stretched lazily, wanting to get back to sleep but knowing that if I did, I would sleep through the better part of the day. So, I got up from the couch and folded the blanket Mark lent me. I placed that and the pillow in the hall closet, tip-toeing back down the hall so as not to wake him.

Realizing how dehydrated I was, I went to the kitchen for water. I drank three cupfuls. I noted the calendar on the wall, "Holy crap…" It was Thanksgiving, and I hadn't even remembered.

I contemplated leaving before he woke up, but knew I could not take his car, and then realized I didn't know my way back to the warehouse from here, by car nor bus.

I stood in the center of the room, arms crossed; my eyes wandering. I hated television, so that was out. It had been two weeks since my last smoke, and I was intensely craving nicotine; but I didn't have any cash on me to buy cigarettes, and even if I did, I had promised John I would quit, so I was quitting. My wandering eyes traveled back across the room, to the radiant silver picture frame with Mark and his sister. I went across the room to get a better look.

As I approached the mantle, I remembered Mark kissing me for the first time. I indistinctly remembered him confessing to me that I reminded him of his sister. I wondered where she lived, if she and Mark still spoke, or were still connected at all, considering his double life. I noticed her beauty, her dark locks and exuberant eyes. And I noticed Mark; that was clearly a happier time for him. Something had broken his heart, I could swear. I reached for the frame. I held it, passing my thumb over the intricate designs engraved into the silver. And I tried to picture Mark smiling that way in real life. It was difficult.

"Good Morning." I heard from somewhere behind me.

I nearly jumped out of my skin. I spun to face him, stupidly holding the frame behind my back.

"Did you sleep well?" I tried to distract.

He raised an eyebrow in suspicion, "What are you hiding?"

I sighed, "I was looking at this photo…" I handed him the frame, his eyes dropped to it and did not stray. I wrapped my arms around myself, not fully understanding this reaction. "Mark?"

He didn't look up at me, "I don't know if John told you…"

I shook my head, approaching him, "Told me what?"

He finally tore his eyes away from the frame, "Never mind." He walked past me, placing the frame back up on the mantle. I stared him down, although he did not look at me.

"Where does she live?" I gestured to the picture.

He looked confused at first; he shook his head and huffed, incredulously.

"I'm not following you-" I confessed.

"She died."

My gaze, locked on him, fell out of focus. Too many things suddenly made sense, and I wanted…needed to sit down. I did.

"I…"

"Don't say it." He cut me off, "Don't say you're sorry." He insisted.

I pushed some hair behind my ear, looking at the floor. "I am…"

Silence followed, and Mark left the room. I sat unmoving on the couch, trying to fit that fact into everything that had happened, and it scared me how much I now understood Mark's cold demeanor, his intense stares.

A total of seven minutes passed. Mark emerged from the hall. I retained my place on the middle of the couch, staring into oblivion.

"Aren't you going to ask?" He was expectant.

"Ask what?" My voice was blank.

He assumed the answer was obvious. "Ask me how she died."

"No." I didn't want to know.

He paused for a little while. "She was murdered," Maybe he was venting. I covered my ears childishly. I could still hear his voice, despite me trying to mute him. "She had been beaten, and murdered. And when I saw her eyes, there was nothing there. She was long gone by the time we found her…"

I wasn't crying. However, my eyes stung and my breaths came in short huffs. I may as well have been, and Mark wouldn't stop talking.

"There was so much blood…" Mark's voice cracked.

"That's enough, Mark." My own voice was dry and weak. I turned my head to watch him; he was already looking at me. I wrung my hands; I couldn't bring myself to touch him. There was such a sorrow emanating from him, it was hard to be near. But I had to; because I also couldn't bring myself to leave him.

I felt him holding me, but I couldn't see him. I had shut my eyes tightly. I balled my fists, resisting the urge to embrace back. Eventually I gave in, resting my head on his shoulder. "Stay with me." He whispered into my hair. When he released me, I smiled dimly at him.

_I can't._

"Happy Thanksgiving..."

He smiled, just barely. I was thankful for that.

-

"John!" I ran to him. Mark had driven me back home. We had stopped to buy dinner on the way. I was immensely pleased to see him; however the events of the previous night haunted me. I felt that I was keeping as much of a secret from him as Amanda was, and I couldn't hold back much longer.

And then I thought about the pain it would cause him. And I wanted to hold onto that for him. I would do anything in my power to make sure he would have happiness for the holidays.

I took off my jacket, sitting beside him, "How do you feel?"

"Well enough." He said. I beamed.

"You seem to be feeling even better, Rivielle." He added.

"I am, John; it's the holidays isn't it?"

"For the most part."

"I've been thinking we should… celebrate them. We should cherish our lives; it goes without saying, right?"

"Sounds like a plan." John approved.

While I cleaned in preparation, John spoke to Mark far across the room. I was eavesdropping.

"John..where is Amanda?" Mark must've read my mind.

At that moment, she walked in through the double doors. _Speak of the devil_, I thought as I moved a fine polished cherry wood table towards the center of the room. I then glanced up. She looked rested, can't imagine where she had been after she left the bathroom.

"I'm sorry I'm late, John. I have the pictures." She handed John an envelope of freshly developed photos that she was holding protectively under her arm.

"Thank you Amanda. You've done well."

_Yeah right. _

"What are those for?" John gave Mark the envelope after he looked through a few.

"They're our next subjects." John took a seat; I watched his look of contentment.

_She murders Adam and then runs back to John and takes care of errands for him. You just can't get good help anymore. _I thought bitterly.

"John? May I see?" I asked, receiving it from Mark. I flipped through some, and then some more. There were names written on the back of each one. Gus, Laura, Jonas, Xavier. I didn't read the rest, but there was a few more involved. "Are they all playing one game?"

"No." Amanda replied. "Two separate games."

"This is a lot of people." I retorted, "Even for two games."

"I don't make the rules." She walked off, hanging up her jacket.

_Can't you admit to bending them?_

-

Amanda and I set the table, four places, and paper china. Mark sat next to me, Amanda on the opposite side, next to John. I asked everyone to state what they were thankful for.

"I am thankful that we could all be here, together." I was.

"I'm thankful for strength, and dedication." Mark.

"Second chances." Amanda spoke softly.

"I am thankful for those who seek more out of life. People like yourselves." John.

We raised our paper cups in a toast, to all of these things. I made eye contact with John, relishing the fact that I was most thankful for _him_, and the second chances he had given us. We couldn't have made it this far without him. As I chewed my first bite of turkey, I realized how hungry I was, and couldn't fathom how I had ignored my stomach for so long.

Mark was engaged in conversation with John again, and I overlooked it this time, for I was preoccupied with trying to figure out the blank looking Amanda, who had barely touched anything in front of her. She picked at her stuffing, stabbing some with her fork and then pushing it back and forth on the plate. Her eyes meandered and glared into another dimension that we were not a part of. It seemed she only came alive when she was with John; and John alone.

I was not satisfied with that.

"Amanda."

It took her a moment to 'wake up'; she gave me eye contact and breathed out, wearily.

"Yes?"

"I don't think we ever really were introduced properly. I mean, I know you…but I don't _know_ you, get it?" I bit off a part of my roll.

"Yeah. I get it."

I made very sure not to break my stare. "So, I'm assuming you were involved in some kind of misdeed…or else you wouldn't be here, right?"

"Yes."

"Actually, it's your business. No need in my prying." I continued, excusing myself from the table and beckoning her over to the wayside, to talk in private. Mark watched me. John didn't seem to have noticed. "But, I have to ask you something Amanda." My voice dropped to a serious, hushed tone.

She looked even more uninterested than before. It was possible she wasn't, that's just how it appeared to me.

"Why do you think you should still be here?" I folded my arms.

She perked up, becoming aggravated as well. "I don't. John needs me." She was adamant.

"I'm sure he does." I couldn't hide my sarcasm.

"Oh please. As if he doesn't know about you and Mark. You and I both know that the two of you have been screwing around. Just like old times, right?"

I literally bit my tongue. The pain was a tickle compared to the sting of her words.

_How the hell does she know about me?_

"You don't know _shit_." I said, a little too loud.

"Rivielle." I heard John warn. My heart's vengeance was immediately tamed. I forced my tone back to a barely inaudible whisper. I did this, not in fear that John might hear, but so she would listen.

"It doesn't matter what you _think_ you know about me. What matters is… what I know about _you_." I replied, giving her a very grave stare.

I went back to my place next to Mark. He gave me an inquiring look; I shook my head to answer, 'nothing'. I watched as she deciphered my words and sat somewhere nearby, incensed. Shortly after, (although I didn't notice when) she left; and did not return.

-

I was clearing the table; Mark was waiting up for me. John thanked us, retiring for the night. I asked him if we might talk more tomorrow about his new plans, he agreed.

"What was that about earlier?" Mark looked up at me from his seat.

I shrugged, "It's no longer an issue. Really." I assured him. I tied the garbage bag into a knot. He followed me as I took it out. I voiced my plans to him.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to tell John everything I know." I tossed the bag into the dumpster about a half a block off. Mark and I stood closer together for warmth; speaking quietly by an alleyway, as a squirrel scurried by, frightened by the impact of the bag in the dumpster. I stared upwards, towards the pallid moon that was out early. "I only hope he takes it better than I did."

-


	15. Testimony

I slept long and deep that night, far into the next afternoon, which was unlike me. It was possible that in some sad, desperate way, my body was trying to keep me from inflicting pain on anyone by keeping me unconscious longer. Well, it wasn't going to work. I had a responsibility to myself and to John. Then, as I lay in my bed lazily, I stared directly upwards at the ceiling as if it held some answer for my inquisitive heart.

_Will John be grateful to me for telling him? Or will he resent me?_

_Will he allow Amanda to continue with us here? Or will he drive her away with the guilt?_

"Oh God, help me." I murmured to myself, rolling onto my side and clutching my stomach. I will spare you the details, but it was _that time_ of the month and I was feeling extraordinarily unpleasant.

I showered, sitting in the tub with the shower head running, pointed directly on me. I held my head up, positioning my face directly under the raining water. I took this opportunity to cry silently into the stream. I couldn't tell the difference between the saline drops that came from me, and the water that sprayed from the well constructed irrigation systems. That was good; it helped me feel less of a failure. I hugged my knees to my chest, leaning my head into my arms and composed myself.

_I've done nothing wrong. John knows I love him, I would never intentionally upset him without reason. This is serious and he needs to know. _

And then I thought, clenching my teeth. _Amanda would have said something long ago, had it been the other way around. _

I knew this for a fact. _Why am I still protecting her? _

_Because I would rather die than hurt John. Yes I would. _

Then I washed my hair. After, I shaved my long neglected legs, still sitting in the tub. I cut myself twice because I wasn't paying much mind. The little slashes collected blood and then spilled over. I watched the little red lines race down my leg and then wash away with the running water. I could feel the sting of the cuts, but I was not concerned.

-

After I was dressed, I forced myself to quit pacing a hole into the floor and sit down in my room. As I did this, I heard- "Rivielle."

"Mark?"

"Yes. Are you decent?"

I looked down at myself. I wore a white tank and baggy grey sweats. "Yeah."

He came through the curtain, staring down at me, sitting back on my bed idly, and watching the minutes on the clock. "What do you need?" I asked.

"I need you to get this off your chest. Just…get it over with."

"It'll never be over with. Even if I tell him, everything will just be magnified to larger than life size. It's going to hurt more than it already has..._i_s." I exhaled.

"John will be proud of you." The uncertainty of his tone rang in my ears.

"John will feel betrayed. No more, no less." I looked away.

"How do you know that?"

"Am I the only one who acknowledges that he works every waking moment, and for what? For someone he's helping become better, so they can go behind his back and modify his decisions? For their own bullshit personal conviction!? Remorse isn't in my vocabulary, _especially_ when John makes the verdict." I chucked my pillow against the divider wall, releasing some anger. "Fuck!"

"She felt sorry for him. A tender heart doesn't make her a murderer. It was a mercy killing, Rivielle."

"He didn't deserve mercy! You fail your test, you die. But _not_ by hand of some bleeding heart junkie."

"That's low." He shook his head.

"How can you defend her?! She's weak!"

"And she'll always be that way unless John continues to teach her. You were fragile yourself. In some ways, you retain that flaw. When you throw pillows…" He smirked.

I threw myself backwards onto the bed. I felt defeated. "I know it seems like…I don't _hate_ her…You don't know what she said to me."

"I'm sure it was vile."

"She…told me that you and I appear suspicious to John. She thinks we're sleeping together."

He hesitated. "Who cares what she thinks?"

"I do! I care! I care because she spends more time with John than I ever have, now that she's designing the traps, and that means she could tell him anything and I wouldn't be there to defend myself. Or you for that matter." I could feel my eyes sting with the coming tears. "I don't want him to see me like that. I can't be Candy or Summer or Lacey anymore." I recalled the names the working girls used.

"You're not." He approached me cautiously. "John knows who you are. He knows you've changed." He sat near me.

"He knows the person you've become, and he loves her. As much as he would never admit it. I know what you've sacrificed for him." He looked around. "You've even quit smoking. Bravo."

I wiped my eyes hastily, "I have been trying so hard to make him see me. And I think he does…"

"I do. I saw through your makeup, and so does John."

"I'm indebted."

His fingers grazed my cheek, cupping my chin in his hand and turning my face towards his. I pulled his hand away, daring to speak words I hadn't known were trying to escape.

"Sometimes I notice the way you look at me…and I think, 'what does he want?'. And I realize what you want is exactly what I want when I'm with John. I want more time. I want more of his wise anecdotes. Then I realize I'm selfish; in wanting him to stop his work and stop dividing his time. I want an opportunity to be there for him like he was for me. And I feel like dying when I think… 'There's no way that I can.' And for that, I don't deserve him." The words tumbled out unthinkingly, and I had begun tearing in the middle of my sentence. I didn't notice until Mark began to kiss the tear-stained areas of my face. I closed my eyes.

"You said you were indebted."

I nodded. Not having enough breath to speak.

"And you said you noticed the way I watch you?" He pressed his lips to my jawbone.

"Yes." It was an exhale; I almost could not find my voice.

"Then you must know that I love you."

I didn't…couldn't…wouldn't- process it immediately; the words went in one ear and out the other. So logically I answered. "Unmistakably."

"Then return the favor."

So, when he pulled away, I grabbed his collar and heaved him back towards me, roughly capturing his lips with my own. My body and rational-(_because it's perfectly rational to ravage someone who confesses their love to you_.)-acted, so that my heart wouldn't have to.

I did not have to hold him in place, he held me. At first, we had collided too fast for either one to have any reaction, the moment too concentrated. When I become conscious of it, I made my actions relaxed. And for the first time ever, I was moving with him, instead of just trying to keep up. The change was apparent and he challenged me, leaning backwards and letting _me_ find his kiss again. When I did, I felt stronger in my pursuit that was brand new. I had conquered a milestone that I wasn't reaching for. And in this I was able to control my actions because I was leading. The feeling of domination was intense. I finally understood then why he liked having control.

"Stop." I disconnected us, standing up swiftly. My upper body heaving, my neck and cheeks reddened, and my lips tender. I rubbed my arms, chasing off the goose bumps.

He grinned, copying my standing up. "_You_ were kissing me." He seemed awestruck.

I pushed my hair out of my face. "Thanks Capitan Obvious."

"Why do you do that?" He asked, exasperated.

"What?"

"That. Every time we get close, you snap back into this 'I hate you' mind-set, which I know is just a tactic you use to drive me away."

"I don't do that." I folded my arms, mumbling.

"Stop taking the easy way out."

"There is no easy way Mark! Please, enlighten me. Show me what you think the 'easy way' is, because other than taking your gun and putting it to my head, there isn't one."

"I know the easy way because I watch you performing it everyday. It's pretending you don't care, so it's easier to hide the fact that you do."

"I can't _hide_ anything. Look at me Mark, I'm a wreck."

"Then let me be here for you."

"I've tried…but I'm torn, Mark. You know that better than anyone."

"I'll never get why you would fight honey with venom."

-

Mark's words still meandered restlessly through my head when I left him in the workroom and traveled down through the corridors to the room where John was resting.

"John." I whispered when I found him, sleeping serenely. I resolved to leave, to try again later. But as I turned to leave, I heard his voice call me back. I turned quickly, watching him sit up.

"No. Its fine, John, go back to sleep. I'll just come back."

"This is…obviously important. You've never come to speak with me here."

I nodded solemnly. "It's really important. It's… about Amanda."

John thought. "Go on."

"Well…" I felt childish. "Two nights ago, I got up in the night. I honestly don't know how or why I woke up so immediately, but when I did I used the restroom and then I heard Amanda going down to the exit from here."

John was silent.

"I-I can't explain it, I just…felt weird about the whole thing. It didn't seem normal to me. So then I followed her." My voice fell softer, as my story became graver.

"I was hiding in the back of the van. She drove to the game house, John. By herself, she assumed." I exhaled.

"I followed her into the bathroom …" I sniffed, raising my hand to my mouth to bite my nail. "She…John, she killed Adam."

-

"And then I broke down, and asked him to forgive me."

Mark looked puzzled. "For what? I can't see anything you've done wrong."

"For not telling him sooner. I should've told him immediately...God my throat is dry."

"Don't you feel better?" Mark handed me a water bottle.

"No. I hate myself." I took a sip. "You didn't see the look in his eyes."

"John will make a way to right it. He's got a plan for everything." Mark assured me. John sounded like God with those words. And even I knew he wasn't. I just couldn't see how Amanda could be absolved of this. But then again, it was all up to John.

Amanda never found out that I told John she had become a murderer. I suppose now, that it was better that way. It was because of my testimony, that she was given her final test. The one she would ultimately fail.


	16. Freedom

Mark's POV

I watched Rivielle braid and unbraid her hair restlessly after telling John about the incident. Her eyes were farther than I had ever noticed them being. As they always were when she was agonizingly lost in thought: they were dark, beautiful and distant.

I thought about work. I thought about when John planned to carry this out, exactly. I wondered if this was too soon after the last. I wondered if this was once more too much for the women under our responsibility.

As she sat crossed-legged on her bed, her hair twirling through her fingers, I couldn't control my thoughts. Some of which were wholesome enough to tell her myself; some too _explicit_ even to detail here. Heaven only knows how many times I had fantasized about her. I swallowed as I noted every breath she took, every time her chest rose and fell from her lungs filling with oxygen. My gaze wandered from her child-like, uneven lips, the lower lip being a little fuller than the top. I stared down past her jaw, and down her neckline. Her collarbone was elegantly defined. My stare unbroken, then wandered further to her tensed shoulders, then,...her breasts_. God_, I thought. I quickly averted my eyes, feeling bitterly unsatisfied. My male-driven carnal instinct hated being repressed.

We had talked; she expressed her opinions, asked questions. I did my best to listen and answer. And with such distraction.

And then she was quiet. Having run out things to tell me, I was able to reflect on (once again) her vivid act of affection just one hour prior. What was utterly and stunningly amazing about Rivielle was the fact that just about anything could positively affect her, _and_ she could either completely dwell on it, or completely ignore it and pretend it never happened.

I hated the latter.

Rivielle's POV

I had developed a few nervous habits over the course of my stay with John. I had quit smoking, but I began biting my nails, pacing, and incessantly playing with my hair to make up for it. The last I was doing right after I decided to hide in my room, away from the mental stress (sort of).

I had come back from John, feeling (to say the least) heartbroken. And I was pleased to be able to tell someone what I was feeling. At least he understood where I was coming from.

_At least he loves me. At least somebody does. _I couldn't tell if I fully welcomed the thought.

'_I'll help you figure it out.' _Good job there, Mark. Now I'm even more confused.

-

Amanda returned an half-hour later, she was carrying a package for John. I remember it was a dented cardboard box, no labeling and no postage address. As she ascended, I didn't bother asking if she needed help. She carried it up the stairs and down another hallway of the warehouse. Mark asked her if she was okay handling everything. She nodded. We stared at one another for the briefest moment, and then she went into an empty room. From the noises, I thought she began tinkering with some metal pieces, and maybe a wrench.

That evening, Mark insisted I eat. He nearly had to resort to picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder, to get me into the car and drive me to a burger joint downtown, where we could get some fast food. I can't remember which place, but the food was barely food and I only ate half of whatever I was trying to stomach. McGreasy or something. The restaurant was noisy, filled with the frivolity of excited children and the irritated commands from their parents.

"Kasey!," One young mother reprimanded. "Don't hit your brother!" A whine followed, as I watched the child with large brown eyes fold her arms, in tantrum-mode.

Across from Mark and I; a teen couple shared fries and drank milkshakes. The fresh-faced girl, with dark tawny eyes and silken copper skin spoke to her male counterpart with a candy-coated tone that I couldn't help cringing at. He was so obviously drawn in by the flirtatiousness of her gab, and body language to match. He asked her to accompany him to their homecoming dance. She batted her lashes, accepting with a pearly grin that was perfection.

I couldn't help but watch the scene unfold. It seemed like so long since I had seen people interact with everyday banter, speak with words that weren't of dire importance. The simple nature of it enthralled me. And I myself had never had an experience any similar. Their connection so pure, compared to a different standard I had been forced to grow used to. I had not assumed this was the girl's first love, judging from his complete nervousness and her beauty queen confidence. But my first boyfriend, Chris, turned out to be a pimp, twenty-one, and a heroin user. I had been a junior, sixteen, and I had run away to be with him. Ended up selling myself for him. And then when he overdosed in my apartment on his birthday about a year and a half ago, I found myself working more often, and with less remorse. I had no more options. So, bitterly, I said goodbye to his cold body in the morgue and I did not go to his funeral.

The girl leaned in, pressing her pink, glossy lips to the nervous kid's cheek; and all was right in the world.

"Where am I, _Pleasantville_?" I still couldn't take my eyes from them. They didn't seen to notice anything but one another's sparkling irises.

"We could go somewhere else," Mark offered, noticing my reaction to the food, and atmosphere. "Somewhere...nice. I was meaning to take you out anyhow."

I finally tore my eyes away from the scenery and made eye-contact with Mark; feeling my cheeks get hot. "No. It's fine, really. I'm not even hungry." I really wasn't.

He nodded, and I felt like leaving.

"I want to go." There was not much stillness around me, and I needed to join the world of the physically active, lest I go insane.

"Whats the hurry?" He inquired, his eyes worried.

"I gotta...I gotta talk to John." I stood, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets.

"About?" He leans his head to the side slightly, studying me once more. I sighed, sitting again, pulling my hands out; and a few pennies as well. I began to play with them absentmindedly, stacking them neatly on the table in front of me.

"About whats next." I give the words meaning, and he understands.

"Oh." He obviously knows more than I do, "John's still working out the kinks...but more than half the traps are ready."

I nodded, wanting to say more than I was about to, but not really finding my will or the help to sort the jumbled thoughts in my head.

"If there's anything I know about John, it's that he's almost too complex. He'll never settle for the simplest route. If you've noticed, he keeps raising the bar."

"I know that. And it's terrorizing me." I hiccuped into my sleeve, I realized it must have looked odd. "I'm losing it Mark."

"Can I ask you something?" He's quiet and divining.

"Shoot." I relaxed my shoulders.

"Well, hypothetically of course...and for your sake, let's say something were to happen to John..."

I tried to process the words. "_What_?" I became angry.

_Why does he insist on making me think about these things?_

"What if he was seriously hurt, or...Rivielle, what if he died? What would you do then?"

"Nothing." I considered. "I would do nothing. Life would have much less _meaning_." My tired eyes rose, meeting his. He shook his head, closing his eyes. He must have known the nature of my response before I said it, and was hoping it would be different. I was sorry to have disappointed him, but the past was gone. And I wasn't about to change my answer. Anything less that what I had already offered would be a lie, and an insult to John. Of course, I meant every syllable.

"Do you think you would find the strength to go on? Would you be able to live, no...cherish your life?"

"Yes. For his sake. Though..." I watched the teen boy pay for the meal, and take the girl's hand as they left. I watched his chivalry as he opened the car door for her, and waited until she was safely buckled before he drove off. "I suppose it would take me a while..."

-

When we returned, I hung up my jacket, and made my way hurriedly to John. The hall was dark, and I tripped over a metal bar that was simply laying on the floor. My foot collided with it with a 'clank' noise.

"Ow..." I nursed my toes, hopping comically on one foot in the shadows of the corridor.

"My bad." Amanda stepped out from the dark, she picked up the metal piece that I now saw was a pipe. "Maybe you should watch where you're walking."

_Maybe you should watch where you leave your shit._

"Yeah..." I watched her bring the pipe back to the room she had left. I noticed that her hair was growing. She was watching the news in there. I heard the professional voice of the reporter 'Standing right outside the crime scene...' The sound of it gradually faded as I walked further on, the sound of my shoes echoing as well.

"John?" I knocked on the door twice, he let me in.

He let me collect my thoughts, returning to his work while I stood in the corner, holding my elbows. Usually, before I talked to John, I had to at least rehearse in my head; or be subject to either: blabbering nervously, or merely piecing together imperfect fragments of what I'm really trying to say. This time, I had not thought beforehand, and was feeling rather pointless.

"Are you alright?" John asked quietly, while he wrote in a notepad.

I nodded without thinking, but immediately realized he couldn't see it, since he wasn't facing me. So I answered verbally. "Yes."

"I heard your stumble back there." He glanced at me, one corner of his mouth turned up, teasing me.

"Oh...that. No, I'm fine. It was dark, and...I'm stupid." I laughed weakly.

"You are not stupid." He paused, "I'm actually installing a new light fixture in the hall. It's become hazardous, wouldn't you say so?"

My foot throbbed dully. "A bit." I smiled.

"Have a seat, Rivielle."

I pulled a folding chair from it's place on the wall, bringing it closer to John and sitting in it.

"So thats what Amanda's playing with in there...a light fixture?" I asked.

"No. What she's doing is in fact, crucial to our next game."

My eyes fell to the floor. "Oh...well, that's actually what I came to talk about. I have a question."

"I'm afraid I may not have a satisfying answer."

"Whatever you have is good enough."

He was silent. He looked at me with the studious regard that had become too familiar.

"John...don't you think this is a little..." I struggled to find the right word, "...venturesome? I mean, it's so soon. We were almost caught last time. What if...John, what if something happens to you?"

_And what would become of us?_

"Considering my predicament, I don't have so much to lose. However, if I do lose my life, or my so called 'freedom' accomplishing what I've worked for, then it would have been well worth it."

"You do have freedom." It was barely a whisper.

"Nobody is free! Everyone is bound by something. Money, Power, Greed. The truth is, being behind a jail cell is the only thing that can set most people free from it."

"What are you bound by John?" I couldn't think of anything. I knew exactly what held me back, but not John.

"Cynicism is a great possibility. But mostly by time."

"It's an illusion, isn't it?"

"But it holds us back, Rivielle. In the end, it keeps us from our true potential. It chases us down, and fetters us to the clock. And it keeps counting down. Forever."

"There won't ever be enough of it, will there?" My heart was heavier than ten-thousand blocks of cinder.

"No. I wouldn't think so." He coughed into his sleeve.

**- **


	17. Promise

"I know what you're afraid of." John continued, his eyes focused on mine, utterly unshakable.

"What am I afraid of?" My voice a low, shaky pitch. I bit the inside of my lower lip apprehensively.

"I know you. You're afraid to go on. You wish to stay as you are. A part of you knows that you need to be rehabilitated, and the other part tells you that you and I would be closer if you continued needing to be healed. I promise you, that I will never abandon you."

I exhaled, immensely grateful. In my mind, truer words were never spoken. And I knew there was no amount of anything that I could conjure that would be adequate recompense. I had been left for dead by the world in its near entirety, and here he was fostering me. My hairs stood on end, my fingers trembled with unease. "John, kiss me." I moved in, holding his face. Mine was so close to his, the slightest advance would secure our lips.

"No Rivielle." He commanded. I obeyed, drawing back fast. He was taking my hands, I was searching my head for words but there was nothing in my mind except the restraint I was practicing. His fingers, pressing into my wrists and traveling up my arms, his contact was a live wire against my skin.

_Please_.

"You're here to be mended, not to be indulged in." The electric current was broken as he me go.

"Just this once." I whispered pleadingly.

"Once is one time too many for a fragile woman like yourself." He contended, never breaking his gaze. I leaned back in my chair, defeated.

"Like you, I know what it's like to reach for the unattainable. It's a powerless feeling."

"You have no idea." I held onto the armrests, throwing my head back with a heavy sigh. I allowed the graven silence to dominate. "Nevermind."

He was soundless, but I don't think he stopped minding. A few more moments passed with no sound but the sound of John's pencil on the paper, and his small coughing spells.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"There is nothing anyone can do for me. My condition is irreparable."

"Don't talk like that." I begged him.

"The truth often is the most painful."

As he finished his sentence, three knocks came at the door. The knob turned from the outside before John could speak permission of their entrance. My shoulders tensed as the door opened, revealing Amanda, a large wheeling cart behind her. Atop the cart was a metal piece, one of John's many devices, and it was covered with a white sheet. I looked away from the cart, and into her face. It was serious and now, disapproving. She tore her eyes from mine and focused on John as she reported, "It's finished. I wanted to test it for you first."

"Thank you Amanda. Please, go ahead. That is, if you don't mind a larger audience." John gestured to me, and she simply nodded, not acknowledging me any further.

I watched, absolutely captivated by this work she had completed in no more than a day and a half. She unveiled it swiftly, picking it up and placing it upon the desk before us. It was a wrought iron face mask of some sort, with holed out spaces for one's eyes and mouth. They proved useless to me, since I couldn't see how any living human would need them after wearing this mask properly. The face mask, opened up to reveal iron spikes protruding from all angles on it's inside. So many that, if closed shut on a person's face, they would die instantly, I had assumed. Amanda demonstrated it's capabilities upon a life-sized dummy she brought in. She unlocked the device, fitting it around the neck of the dummy and snapping it shut with a lock that she had a key for. She then set the spring timer and we watched as it counted down.

The sound of the merciless clicking timer attacked my nerves, forcing me to relive a traumatic experience I had connected with the sound itself. With each passing second, I became increasingly unnerved, getting worse and worse as I sensed what was to come. I held my stomach, biting my lip hard enough to produce a tiny bit liquid and a faint coppery taste. I did my best to contain my afflictions, so as not to give noticed to John that I was feeling very wrong. My eyes, glued to the dummy's device, watered and filled up as the timer counted down to its end, finishing with a 'tick' that was an unsettling finality. I covered my ears, somehow expecting a gunshot. I closed my eyes fiercely as the iron face mask automatically snapped shut, piercing the dummy's foam head from all points. As I deplorably allowed a small yelp to escape my lips, the dummy fell over with the force of the machine's final function. Amanda caught it, just before the apparatus collided with the floor. I didn't see this, as my face was obscured within my palms. Nevertheless, I could feel John's eyes on me. My reluctant tears dampened my hands.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm so –" I couldn't stop repeating myself.

"Enough." I was instantly hushed, but I couldn't tell what he was feeling by his tone of voice. "Amanda, please."

She looked away from me, placing the contraption back upon the cart and leaving swiftly. I sat there void for long before I could find my words. "I don't know what ha-happened-d. I was fine when she showed it to us, but when the timer started, I just lost it."

"You're stronger than you think." John contended.

My frown alleviated a bit. "Maybe you think I'm stronger than I am."

-

The clock said eleven thirty five when I arrived back downstairs. I felt myself wanting to pace, and knew I was anxious again. Mark wasn't downstairs when I returned and so I was alone. The quiet was almost too much to handle. So I went over some things to myself, turned on my heater and passed out, sprawled listlessly on my bed.

I was already awake when he told me to "Get up." I just hadn't opened my eyes yet. "No." I said, staying in my same position, eyes closed and body limp.

"Stop kidding around."

"I'm not fooling. I'm not going to do what you say unless you tell me something."

"Ask me then." I couldn't see his face, but Mark sounded annoyed.

I opened my eyes, sitting up. I turned to face him. "Last night, John promised me something."

He studied me, his eyes thoughtful. "What was it?"

"He promised me, he would never abandon me. I want you to do the same." I locked eyes with him, we stared long into each other. I was unwavering, he was hesitant.

Finally, he spoke. "What does it matter? John can't even keep that kind of a promise."

"Of course he can." I was offended.

"No he can't! He's going to abandon all of us eventually. I can show you his medical records if you'd like-"

"If you don't want to say it then just leave me be." I looked down, so as not to see his reaction.

"I don't." He said, watching me turn away from him, disenchanted. "But I will." He added.

I picked up my head, animated now. "Say it. I just need a little peace of mind."

"I will never abandon you." He was calm and direct.

"Promise?" I stood up, folding my arms.

"I promise." The corner of his lips turned up in a smirk that I couldn't deny. I let him take my waist, and plant a kiss on my cheek. I exhaled, leaning against him, not fully believing him but savoring this space in time.

-

Then, exactly one week later, I was losing my mind. Mark and John had disappeared earlier in the day, taking Amanda with them while I slept. Of course I knew this was all a part of John's latest game.

_Why aren't I there too? Don't I have a role as well?_

I sighed in frustration as I paced restlessly. I was ready to pull my hair out. I wanted to look around for any clues that might help me put two and two together, as to what they were all working on without me. But I knew snooping wasn't in my best interest. So I waited it out. It was an agonizing boredom and I could feel myself growing tenser listening to the clock's strokes.

"Damn it." I whispered to myself.

I laced my sneakers, and began walking down the halls towards the exit. I could faintly hear a car pulling up outside and I ran towards the sound. I pushed open the side door, and stepped out into the night. I saw the van, parked out in front. Mark was behind the wheel, a cloaked John sitting in the passenger seat. From where I stood, I saw Mark beckoning me to come.

_You don't have to tell me twice._

I made an excited dash towards them, pulling open the side door and hopping in. I sat behind Mark and buckled myself in. "Where are we headed?" I couldn't contain my eagerness.

"To our next game. You seem thrilled." John answered.

"I _am_." I flashed him a grin.

I caught Mark's gaze in the rear-view mirror, he seemed amused. He started up the car again, and then we were gone. Mark drove us far off from our last game site. The drive was possibly the longest wait I had ever experienced, I felt like a kid on the way to Chuck-E-Cheese. But I knew I was an adult, and this was something I wanted to do. Not for anybody, but for myself. Because as I fixed my eyes on the hooded man in the passenger seat, I knew that he was the greatest person who had ever willingly come into my life. And in order to be more like him, I had to understand him, I had to work alongside him, learn from him.

_Love him._


	18. Addison

"Where's Amanda?" I asked, sitting in the backseat restlessly. Biting my nails, along with the occasional hair play.

John answered. "She's resting at the moment." He sounded amused, you know, like when somebody knows something you don't.

I didn't question further anyway, like most things that involved John, it would reveal itself in time. Maybe too soon for my liking.

I couldn't tell how much longer after, but Mark spoke. "You can relax. We're here now. You'll find out soon enough."

When Mark parked, I was the first out of the vehicle. I darted to the sidewalk, and found myself staring at a large building, six or seven floors, no windows.

Mark, guiding me, walked alongside as John was opening the back door. I followed him inside and into a gated staircase that he disarmed before we went in. He called it a 'precaution trap' and said that we would need it if we wanted our game to go smoothly. I didn't exactly understand then. We went up, stopping at a high level. I stepped out with them into a room, not well lit, but good enough, and furnished with what looked like John's future works. A large storage room. There was a table towards the back, grimly decorated with medical equipment, all set up for John. I helped him over to it, he sat behind the desk and I handed him an oxygen mask, turning the valve on the tank to give him a fresh supply. Looking behind me, I could see Mark turning on the power for the elevator trap again. I opened the cabinets behind John, looking for his pain medications, I found one full, and one half empty. I opened the half empty one and gave him two and a bottle of water. I assisted him with his IV drip.

"Rivielle," Mark called from far off. "I have something to show you."

I looked at John for reassurance. He nodded at me, and I turned, hesitantly, looking back at him. "Go on." He encouraged. I left him, reluctantly.

There were aisles of metal parts, broken computer screens, mannequin limbs and foam heads; I walked down a row of those and through a gated area towards Mark. He stood by a row of computer monitors, staring at one screen.

"I'm here."

He looked up, motioning for me to come closer.

"Look." He said.

I did. I looked into the monitor, the blue screen depicting what was going on elsewhere. I counted eight people all together in a small room. There was a safe in the middle of them.

"Is that..." I pointed to a petite body lying on the floor. The only one still knocked out from the drug I presumed Mark had administered.

_"Where's Amanda?"_

_John answered. "She's resting at the moment."_

"Amanda?" I looked closer. It was. I took a deep breath, I had forgotten to breathe. My eyes were glued to the monitor. "...why?" I looked to Mark.

"This is her test, as well as the others." He told me firmly.

"What's going to happen to them? Whats happening in there? Why can't I hear anything?" I pressed.

I would never have admitted it, and this is the first and last time I'll ever mention the fact that I was worried about Amanda Young. It had felt like she was one of us, our little created unit. Not exactly a family, but a connection in a partnership. If her and I shared a common goal, then she was valuable and to lose her would be almost inconceivable. I did not always appreciate her, but I did not want to witness her destruction.

"Get her out of there Mark." I pointed to her on the monitor, her body was inert, some of the others walking about and exploring the room. Not well enough, I had deduced, since none of them had found any tapes yet.

Mark scoffed at me, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're unbelievable."

"Did you hear what I said? This is completely ridiculous!"

"Why do you care?" He questioned.

"Because she's one of us. And if you and John could be so indifferent as to put her in there with those people, then maybe I'm starting to fear for my safety too." I spat.

"_Those people_?" He smirked, "Look closer, Elle. You might just find you weren't so different from them."

So I did. Glaring at him for a long moment, I finally brought myself to focus on the faces of the people in the room. A large hispanic that I recognized from the picture I had seen. Two white men, one burly, one lanky and unkempt. A white woman and a black man. Then, my eyes caught a slender, tanned, latina with wavy tresses. She wore a pink camisole top and she appeared to be more stressed than I had ever known her. Addison was often paranoid, but this...

This was a far cry from the streets that she secretly feared.

A long way from the corner of 23rd and Hamilton, where I could laugh with her and tell her how much Chris was getting on my nerves lately.

"Oh noo." I groaned, feeling an awful churning in my stomach. I could have vomited, if there was anything of substance in my stomache. "Addie." My eyes gleamed against the light of the screen, welling up bitterly. I could hear Mark's soft, disheartened exhale behind me, but I was clenching my fists and in the zone. Too far gone to react to him exactly the way I wanted.

_He must have known, he HAD to have known._

She's my best friend. My confidant, my diary.

He put her there.

_My Addie-_

He touched me.

"Don't touch me." I shook him off, walking away, not being able to stand it. He didn't go after me and thats how I liked it.

I walked blindly across the room, down the aisles and rows of junk, eyesight blurred and heart pounding too hard. I collapsed into a chair nearby, laying my head down on the table. After a long while, I could hear Mark and John speaking, but I wouldn't listen to what they were saying. All I knew was that Amanda and Addison were in that room, I didn't know what either of them would face. Even if I did, I wouldn't be able to stop it, so I didn't care to find out.

All I could conjure in my mind was a scene that had played out several months ago between Addison and I. I recalled our exact words.

_"This isn't for me anymore. My mom's hospital bills are almost paid off...so...I'm going back to school." She stopped, a laugh escaped her lips. "I know it sounds crazy."_

_I was about to let her know how far away from crazy that really was. How amazing it was, and how excited I was for her. But she continued on before I could tell her._

_"I just got this great job at this diner, they said I could start training real soon." She grinned at me, just the thought of it put a spring in her step. All I could do was stare into her brown eyes, awestruck. "I know I'm better than this..." She looked around at the scenery. Then she pointed at me. "You too. But you gotta prove it to yourself. Life isn't gonna change on it's own. I'm gonna make something of myself, and I don't know if I told you Ellie, but I wanna dance..."_

My memory faded as I felt my heart sink into my abdomen.

I closed my weary eyes, a bit uncomfortable with my head on the table, but I plunged into slumber anyway.

-

"What time is it..." I murmured groggily, as I lifted my head from the table, a bit of saliva on my lower lip. I wiped my mouth with my sleeve covertly, hoping nobody had noticed. Then, alertly, I scanned the room for somebody, anybody. My eyes focused on John, he was still sitting in the same area as before, so I concluded that I hadn't been out too long. That was good, I hoped I didn't miss the end of the game. Whatever it was.

"I assumed you would have slept longer considering you might dread knowing what is happening on that monitor." said John.

I didn't look his way. I simply crossed the room and came back to the gated area where the monitors were still on. Mark was no where to be found. I felt deeply alone, but I was beginning to welcome the aspect.

I ignored the screen's somewhat painful glare, and I could see Amanda on one screen, she was with a younger boy who I didn't notice the first time. I still had high hopes for her, especially if she was still pushing forward. But she was experienced. And Addison was not.

In fact, at the moment I walked up to the monitor, staring with my mouth hanging open mutely, she had just walked right into a trap.


	19. Emotion

There were few people in the world who meant _anything_ to me.

Those same people meant _everything_ to me.

As so I could only watch helplessly as one of the few was desperately looking for a way out.

I could only imagine how trapped she felt, and how disillusioned she was.

She was coughing, I couldn't hear but I could see that she was having a bit of trouble breathing.

My stomach tightened around a knot forming inside me.

She stumbled into the room less than gracefully. Anxiously I followed her with my eyes as she examined her playing field.

Her eyes caught an envelope hanging from a string and tore down the envelope from the string.

"No..." I said aloud to myself, never looking away.

And then she disregarded that completely, tossing it aside once she caught sight of the glass box in the middle of the room, and the salvation it held.

"Addie no!" I yelled, frustrated with her.

But she could not hear me.

In hindsight, I would understand that Addison had been inside the house for far too long.

She had been breathing tainted air, the effects of which could not have been working well with her brain and pre-acquired lack of common sense.

So, she reached inside the glass box with one arm, the razors scraping against her wrists, leaving trails of fresh blood in their wake.

I watched her grasp fervently at the syringe inside. As she struggled with herself, she pulled open the syringe incorrectly, and squandered every drop of the antidote.

"Shit!" I stepped away from the monitors, eyes wide, cringing with the sight.

Distraught and frustrated, she reached inside with her free hand.

"John! John, SHE'S STUCK-" I yelped in vain.

The trails of blood flowed down her arms, a ruby river.

I watched her numbly as her inaudible wails for help came to life in my ears, as if I were there with her then.

_And stood by and watched her die._

"She's dying..." I whispered numbly.

I reached out, and touched the monitor, disdainfully.

The sword of guilt pierced my heart and I bled out onto the floor.

It was like my life and hers flashed before me in that moment.

I could see her, and myself. I was young, too young. I, barely seventeen, and she had just celebrated her twenty seventh year of life.

We met by chance and bonded by a happenstance.

She asked me for a cigarette, I didn't have any.

She asked me to walk her to the store. I did.

And now, she was begging for her life, for _help_. I couldn't.

The large Hispanic man-

_Xavier_

-approached her from behind now. I felt it would be useless to think for a moment that he would even find the decency within himself to hand her the discarded silver key on the floor.

He obtained the number-

_Blue 9_

-from the back of her neck, and then he turned away from her, ignoring her pleas.

Addison never let on that she possessed any kind of vulnerability, in fact she wasn't someone with the victim mentality.

I wasn't aware that Addison could cry, until I saw her, seconds from death.

She took life as it came, and never complained. I remembered her laugh, pretty and opulent, as if she were a cultured lady of a court.

She always knew who she was, and wasn't worried about what or who she would be.

But I, one who had only recently found my place in the world. Was standing in horror, petrified at who I had become.

_What am I doing? How could I..._

A commotion was taking place on another monitor, I caught sight of Amanda running down hallways with the kid, from the corner of my vision.

It took every ounce of me to tear my eyes from Addison. And as I did, she finally, slipped out of consciousness and fell limp with her hands held in place.

-

I feel I could regret many things in my life.

Some thoughtless, irresponsible things.

I had shed oceans of tears over what I had brought upon myself, and that was all before the age of eighteen.

However, many of those, I had forgiven myself for.

But in that small space of time, as John still waited patiently across the room, I concluded that I would spend the rest of my natural life trying to let go of this.

Let go of my staggering disdain for what I willingly witnessed. I stood there, shaking, allowing it to sink into me; bound with an anchor that would rest there, in my core, until my end. And wherever I went now, Addison would go with me. Her blood on my hands.

I covered my face with my hands, wondering if this was really happening to me. I could very well be asleep on my couch.

_I'm gonna make this okay Addie._

_I will wake up soon._

I held myself tightly, gripping myself by the shoulders and squeezing myself awake maybe.

When I looked up, Amanda and The Boy were no where on the monitors. My forlorn eyes scanned each monitor for any visible sign of life. All was still now. Addison had not stirred, her head lolling forwards like some broken doll. Left behind, by a little girl who was too scared to go get her. Me.

_It should have been me._

I was starting to want just one smoke. Things were trying to fall back into place with the way they were, like an old puzzle from your childhood-

"Rivielle." He beckoned me.

Almost instinctively, I went back to John, my composure slipping with every step I took.

Eventually, I was standing in front of him, holding my breath.

"What was the last you saw?" He asked me, nonchalantly.

I exhaled, looking down, trying to process this as real. I was always taught that once you speak something into existence, you give it life. Allowing it to affect you, and that was the last I ever wanted.

"They're-" I choked. "They all failed. Amanda, she's..I can't see her anymore. I don't know where she is-"

"I see." John showed no sign of affliction from this news. "I had high hopes for her."

Once he spoke so indifferently on the situation, I came close to losing it.

But if there was anything I was determined not to do at this point, was fail John.

So I held my tongue, which was urging me to release my pain. But it was absolutely necessary not to do so.

_"Emotion is something that is difficult to control..." _

_He stepped back, watching me cautiously. Observing my next move. "But you did well. I have faith in you Rivielle."_

He taught me how to carry myself, to use restrain in a stressful situation.

I learned from him, and I would put it to use. It was only right, only needful.

-

How does one keep from panicking when _lives_ are on the line?

Sometimes, you hear about planes crashing. Falling out of the air to the ground, no survivors.

Charred remains of humans and of plane.

But sometimes people talk about pilots who valiantly save their passengers; and I always wondered how they kept their sanity and composure during all of that.

I used to think that all the training and preparation in the world couldn't keep you from absolutely losing it, when the scenario played itself out.

But that was before I knew John.

Before I knew what was most important in life.

Of course you're going to be sad. Worried. Exhausted. Angry. Scared. Life happens.

_Actually, in my case, death happens._

But I had learned that when something needs to be done, emotion must take a backseat.

And so, as John continued to question me, I stood up straight and pushed aside my feelings.

They were, useless.

"I need you to do something for me." He took a deep breath from his oxygen mask. I bit my lip, waiting. "Do you see that clock, Rivielle?"

He pointed to the digital clock on the wall above the staircase trap.

"Yes." I replied.

"Pay attention to it."

I nodded obediently.

"The actions on the monitors are being recorded. When the tape fills, it will stop. I would appreciate it if you could rewind them to the beginning when that happens."

"I will." I told him.

A loud thump was heard downstairs. I looked around jumpily, "What was that?"

"It could be any number of things." He said quietly.

I waited, standing protectively in front of John, trying to calm my heartbeat. Somebody was coming.


	20. Love

I stood in front of John, waiting for the impact. It was dawn now, and I assumed someone found us, my heart pounded against my chest like an animal in a cage.

They were not coming from the rigged staircase, so there must have been some other secret entrance nearby. I looked around the room, trying to figure out the source.

I heard one person speaking, and then another. Then, a panel in the wall across the way opened, it was a secret door.

"Who's there!?" I called, trying to be threatening.

I heard only footsteps. Looking, I saw a petite person step out of the darkness.

"Oh my- _Amanda!_" A strong relief washed over me. "I have never been so happy to see you!" it came out like a laugh.

"And..." I began, observing her. "I would hug you, but I don't know if you would appreciate it." I told her, folding my arms.

"Good call." She told me; she was dirty, bloody, and obviously exhausted. She approached John. I stepped back.

"The safe and Daniel are downstairs. I'm not strong enough to bring the safe up by myself."

"I'm sure Rivielle would be happy to help you." He looked at me, I nodded. "Did you administer to him the antidote?" He asked Amanda.

"Yes. He passed out after we escaped the bathroom. He's unconscious at the moment." She turned towards the entrance that she came through, gesturing for me to follow her.

"We have to hurry." She said.

-

"What did he do?" I asked, observing the pale looking teenager that was passed out on the floor. I thought he was familiar. But I could not understand why he would be a test subject, after all, he _was_ just a kid. "He's...just a kid."

"He wasn't being tested." Amanda lifted him up. "This is his _father's_ test. He's just a pawn in our game."

I understood then, and I picked his legs up carefully, noticing how much blood was on him. I got some of it on my palms, and I wiped it off on my jeans. Amanda frowned, telling me, "He killed Xavier."

My eyes widened. "Woah..."

"Good work Danny." I said dejectedly, as I held Daniel Matthew's legs up. Amanda held his arms as we brought him up the safe stairwell from the back entrance. We laid his inert body in front of John, and went back for the safe. Amanda and I heaved the safe onto the pulley that she made to bring it up easier.

"Are you sure we can do this?" I asked her.

"I've done my part. The worst has yet to come, and that's John's job."

I blinked. "What do you -ugh- mean?" I shoved the safe further up.

Amanda held the rope, and pulled, while I pushed from behind.

"Ask him yourself." She pulled the rope a few more inches, and then it was done.

We rolled the safe over to John. Amanda went back down to the van to get the oxygen tank for the kid. John and I were alone as I sat on the floor, Daniel between us.

"John...what is going to happen tonight?" I bit the nail on my index finger.

"Nothing so out of the ordinary. Wills will be tested, people brought to their breaking points." I could see him smiling from behind his oxygen mask. As he removed it, he became more serious in his tone. "Do not worry about me."

I stood up as I heard Amanda's return, "I'm always going to be worried about you. Even when I'm not allowed to show it, it's there." I couldn't help that. "You mean more to me, than myself." I told him, trying to make him believe me.

"I deeply care for you as well. I know that I can-" He took a breath from his mask. "-rely on you."

Before I could respond, I heard Amanda bringing a large oxygen tank up the stairs. I helped her set Daniel in the safe and place the mask over his face to help him breathe. He mumbled something groggily to me but I couldn't understand him. Amanda urged me to hurry and not to let him get a good look at my face, however disoriented he may be. She came over quickly with a syringe in her hand, injecting Daniel's arm with it.

"What is that for?" I asked.

"To make sure he stays unconscious until the game is over." She replied, fixing his legs into a better position.

I left it to Amanda to connect the safe to the timer. I sprinted over to the monitors, where the tape had ended. I covered the recording equipment and rewound the tape to the start, placing it on a timed play. Once someone entered the room, a sensor would go off and the video would begin to play. There was, once again, no sound so there was no chance of someone giving the actual time away, creating the illusion of a live feed.

When I returned, Amanda was locking the safe with Daniel inside. She looked up at me, and then at the clock on the wall. "We have to pick up a few things from the store." She told me.

Shaking my head, I pointed at her blood-stained clothes and arms. "You can't go like that. Just...stay here, and get cleaned up. I'll go." I insisted.

She appeared reluctant, but was forced to accept due to John's approval. "Amanda. Give her the list, the money and the keys to the van."

She hesitated, handing me fifty dollars and a piece of paper. Then she went to the table and handed me the keys that lay on it. "Make sure you get everything, and don't spend too much time there. We _might_ need you." I was hurrying off before she finished her sentence.

-

I bolted outside, it was very early and most stores werent open yet. I was unlocking the van's door when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun with a gasp, dropping the keys, only to see Mark bending to pick them up.

"You scared me." I told him, a hand over my beating heart.

"I'm sorry." He told me.

"No, I'm okay, just don't do that please, I'm jumpy enough as it is-"

"No." He interjected, "I'm sorry...about Addison."

I looked down, staring at my shoes, "Don't be. I wasn't being good to you, I know now...I mean I don't think she was anybody's fault."

"You lost your good friend last night, and for that I'm sorry. You of all people...I didn't want it to happen."

I nodded solemnly, almost forgetting the task at hand.

"Will you come with me? I have to pick up some things for John."

He accepted, and I hopped into the driver's seat much to his resentment. "Please don't double park. You don't know what I had to go through to get my car back."

I grinned, feeling guilty, but amused. "I won't."

-

Inside the pharmacy, I looked at the list for the first time. Which was mostly vitamins, nutritional energy bars and drinks, and fruit. Everything was so specific, I didn't know where to go first. I stared around blankly for a second.

"Here, give me the list, I know what to get." Mark told me. He had obviously done the shopping before. Before Amanda and myself were ever even thought of. I watched Mark lead me down aisle six and wondered what he did to get involved with John. Well, judging from the limited time we had, I decided I would store the question away, and ask him later.

"Here," He handed me the basket with all the items on the list. "You should pay for these." He smirked.

"Just you wait, I'm going to get good at this stuff." He followed me to the register.

The woman at the register looked way too much like my mother, but younger.

She smiled at me, and I froze up, almost forgetting to hand her the items. Mark noticed I think, but he didn't say a word.

-

I was driving faster on the way back, my nerves on edge.

Mark was looking at me, I wondered if I was being so obvious.

"I said I was sorry." He told me.

"I know that, Mark."

"You just look a little, unsatisfied. I can't say anything more than I already have." His tone was calm.

"I'm not mad at you...I can trust you, right Mark?" I look at him, but only for a moment, because I have to keep my eyes on the road. It was still very early, and there were few cars out. Still, I took no chances.

He was taken aback, "Of course. You know that."

"I've just been thinking about this, and I can't keep it in any longer. I need to tell somebody."

"Tell me." He said.

I pulled over to the side of the road, knowing that once I start talking, I won't be able to stop.

I put the van in park, staring directly ahead of me, recalling one of my earliest memories. One of the many that shaped me into a person who John saw fit to be tested. I went back in time, my memory showing me everything down to the smallest detail. It's funny how sometimes you can't remember the simplest things, like where you left your house keys, or what you ate for lunch yesterday. But the moments that make you or break you, will forever haunt you.

I exhaled deeply before I began, "I just want to be able to hold onto something, somebody who I know won't go away. Or look at me like I'm some mistake. When I was a kid, my dad wasn't there...and my mom, she acted like I was some piece of him that wasn't as good..." I began telling him something I had never told anyone, and would never tell again until now.

_-_

_I stand in front of the closet door where my mother keeps everything my father left behind. I have never been inside and yet I am sure that whatever is inside is something I want to see. My mother is asleep on the couch, the remote control dangling from her limp hand and it is falling over the side of the couch. She sleeps wildly, sometimes thrashing about the bed like a madwoman during a dream. I know this, as I am still young enough to sleep beside her in her bed; as well as the fact that we live in a one bedroom apartment in the city. We have struggled all my life, however short it's been so far. She looks afraid most of the time, and I want to show her I am brave. I often act boyish and present her with dead snakes, worms and beetles that I find in the park. I assume this will make her know that I'm not afraid of anything. Then maybe she wont be anymore._

_She is the most beautiful woman I have ever known. I watch her comb her wavy hair in the mirror. Her eyes are pretty, I can tell, but it's hard for most people who look at her to notice. They only see the bags underneath her eyes as she can't sleep at night. I lie awake, holding my old bear tightly, listening to her crying quietly. She tries very hard, even at my age, I am aware. I watch her mend my overalls, and run my baths. I help her make spaghetti and smile at her when she can't smile at me. She loves me, but she doesn't like me. She says I "look too much like my father." and I wonder if I can take a picture of myself and make a MISSING flier, so I can find him. I don't know who he is but I want him. I want him to hug me and kiss my momma, I want him to look at me and tell me how much we are alike. I want to feel like he is mine, and I am his. _

_So I stand in front of the closet door. I reach for the knob and it is cool under my small hand. I wonder if I should just forget about it and get a bowl of cereal before catching a Sesame Street marathon on the small tv that my mother isn't watching. I grow up to hate television because I don't want to become my mother, who can spend a day emotionally ignoring me until she falls asleep in the middle of 'All My Children'. She watches soaps to make her real life dissapear. _

_The door is still there and it is yelling at me, it tells me how badly I want to see inside._

_'Just a little peek' I vow to myself. _

_I begin to turn the knob slowly and as quietly as I can, looking back every couple seconds to see if my mother has stirred from the sound. I am afraid of what she will do if she catches me. I know she would hate me if I let on that I was curious about the man who didn't care about either of us. The door opens a little, I try to make no sound. I poke my head inside. I see a suitcase, a cardboard box and an old, unloaded, shotgun. I stare at these things for a long while. I am a small girl staring at things that mean nothing and everything to me. They belonged to the man who is one half of me, and now they belong to no one. They are worthless, hidden away in a closet like a dirty secret. I wonder if my mother will do this to everything that once belonged to him, and I am afraid that someone will find __**me**__ among the worthless items someday. A symbol of the man who caused her the most pain she had ever felt._

_I am a child, and I will grow up into both of my parents. One side of me, is diligent and mindful, maternal as can be. I am sad in this aspect because I feel that the love I can give will never pay off for me. Scared of the future and wounded by the past. My other side is insecure and full of remorse. I hate anything that reminds me of my wrongs, and yet I love them. I can be irresponsible because I fear rubbing off on the thing I must care for. I feel shame when I am bad, but there is a sick pleasure that comes from it because I know that nobody will care enough to reprimand me. _

_I want to touch the items inside the closet. I want to identify with these things because we are the same. We are all things which once held value for the same person, and then we were forgotten, abandoned under the same roof. I have no friends because they all have fathers. They tell me that I am a bastard and they give me strange looks when my mother drops me off at school with a cigarette in her hand. 'Theres nothing wrong with her' I tell them, but they don't believe me. I dont even believe myself. _

_I creep inside the closet, hands outstretched towards the cardboard box. I am very close and I feel excited. Suddenly, I feel a tight grip on my arms. She is pulling me out, and she's upset. She yells, but I can't hear her. All I hear is the voice in my head that tells me I'm crazy. Then, she slaps me across the face for the first time in my life and I am too stunned to feel the sting of her hand. Now I hear every word she says, and it scars me forever. "Dont you ever go inside that closet, do you hear me?!" She shakes me hard because I'm not responding to her the way she wants. I am a robot. "I said, 'Do you hear me?' You little bitch!" _

"She dragged me into the room, and she beat me for _ten minutes_..." I breathed slowly as I told him, trying to keep from crying. "She had never done that before. I didn't know what to do, so I just laid on the bed and let her hit me! I didn't move and I didn't cry, I know it's so weird now that I think of it..." My voice fell to a whisper as I confessed, "But do you know something, Mark? In a sick way...I wanted her to beat me. I wanted her to take everything my father did to her out on me, so that maybe..." My voice broke, "Maybe, she could beat me to make herself happy again. Because I wanted her to be happy more than myself. I thought, 'do whatever you have to do momma, just be okay! Just dont hate me!'" I was crying long before I finished my sentence. I was bawling hysterically over the steering wheel, he reached over, trying to hold me, but I fought him off.

"It's okay!" He told me, trying to make me open my eyes and look at him. "It's okay, I'm here. I'm here, you're safe. you're safe." He tried to get a grip onto my arms and shoulders, but I was holding him back from me.

"You're safe, Ellie, you're safe. Trust me, nothing can hurt you. I have you."

He must have said it one hundred times before I was finally convinced, and let him take me into his arms.

"Say something to me." I pleaded with him. "Make me forget." Hot tears spilled down my face.

He rocked me in his arms, easing me into comfort. "I love you." He didn't mumble, or stumble over his words.

I froze for the slightest moment. He felt that and held me closer, I let him. I liked his body heat, I liked his touch. He felt like home.

The kind I never knew.

"Say you promise." I managed to gasp through my tears. I was holding him back, for dear life.

"I promise I love you. I promise I will never make you cry, lay a hand on you, or _abandon_ you." He kissed my forehead, but I was dissatisfied.

Holding him to me, I captured his lips with the greatest ease, breaking us apart only to speak, "I love you back."

-


	21. Good

**[ First Off, I want to thank everyone who's been reading/reviewing. I owe you my deepest thanks. So there it is. ;) Enjoy, you lovely lovers of literature.]**

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I had never been so emotionally attracted to anyone in my life.

Of course there were physical relationships; too many men to remember, but they had been nothing more than bodies for use. Income opportunities. So as I rolled down the window; the wind catching my hair, grazing my face as gently as Mark's hand, I knew we were something else entirely. I was now sitting next to him on a much deeper level, much more sophisticated than any person I had opened up to. I began driving back with my eyes on the road, and almost reluctantly: my heart in his hands.

-

We returned, apparently, late.

"Where-" She paused, glancing from me to Mark. "_What took_ you so long?" Amanda grabbed the shopping bag from me, reaching inside for John's medicine and fruit. She walked past us, kneeling to open a cabinet. She pulled a gleaming knife from inside, and proceeded to slice an apple from the bag on the counter. I opened my mouth to speak, but she held her hand up, silencing me. "Nevermind," She shifted her glare towards Mark. "I'm sure I don't care."

I watched her carefully, as she sliced quickly and efficiently, barely looking at her hands. She was professional...firm.

"Be careful." I spoke low, trying not to offend her.

"I am careful." She murmured harshly. Her tone fell even lower, "As if I don't know how to use one of these."

Then she turned to look at me, so fiercely, that I drew a small, fast breath. She neatly arranged the slices onto a plate, and sat them down in front of John with two white pills and a cup of water.

Mark left my side, noticing John's work papers on the tables around us, he tried to take them, swiftly collecting them and place them in a hidden place.

"Leave them." John breathed as Amanda handed him a napkin. "Detective Matthews may want to have a look." He almost grinned.

For the strangest reason, I had the urge to laugh. It seemed almost ridiculous, why would The Detective be around to see them unless...

"_John-_" I called, disbelievingly. "You dont mean to say...he's not coming _here_, is he? You're saying that..this cop is going to be in the same room with the people who took his kid?! "

"If Detective Matthews is to be tested accordingly, I must be present. For you, it is of course, optional."

My breath caught in my throat. I tried to speak, it was like forcing vomit with an empty stomach.

"We can't," I said, trying to convey my thoughts, "It can't happen here. Not-" I sighed deeply. "_Not in your condition, John!_ What if he...what if he hurts you?!"

"I have already considered every possibility." John told me.

I looked around, Amanda was standing by John's side, eyes locked on me, glowering. She seemed to understand me, but was obviously defying my logic for John's game. Mark was not looking at me, and I finally knew I was alone here.

I directed my attention to John once more, angry this time. "Then you must know that we could all very well go to prison after tonight! After all we've worked for!" I yelled, to no one in particular. I went to John, pleading now. "Dont... If something were to happen..." I closed my eyes, pained.

"The rules are finite." John replied.

"The police are coming." Amanda informed me, "I've already left Matthews a message, his son is still missing. He'll come for John eventually." She stepped closer to me, folding her arms sternly as she did. "So no matter what, no matter what you tell yourself, this isn't your game, and you don't have a say." She was too close for comfort; a _threat_.

My nostrils flared, my hands twitched. Every cell within me howled _slaughter_. An instinct from somewhere under the surface felt the burning need to eradicate any and all enemies. It was the urban child in me, begging to wreak havoc. As I had learned, growing up, allowing the streets to teach me right from wrong:

_"If they fvck with ya, choke 'em out." My neighbor Mrs. Chavez tells me, one evening. I have run home in tears, it is a few weeks after my tenth birthday. My former best friend Anna called me worthless and my mother a tramp, when she learned that I had once lived in a shelter and that I had no father. _

_Mrs. Chavez has several children, she gave birth to the first born at the age of sixteen. She discontinued her education at that point, and never went back. So there I stand, taking advice from her as she opens a can of beer, and offers me some. _

_I shake my head nervously, and I wouldn't try any alcohol until my seventeenth birthday when I subsequently have too much and fall unconscious down a flight of stairs._

_"S-she she said-" I can barely speak through my woe, I had been victim to great betrayal. "She made fun of me." I can finally finish._

_I wail hoarsely as Mrs. Chavez hugs me and pats my back. She gives me advice._

_"Choke 'em out!" Mrs. Chavez told me. _

_"I don't know what you mean." I reply honestly. _

_  
"It means," She begins, taking a sip of her Spanish beer. "If Anna says something mean to you, that hurts your feelings, then you punch Anna between the eyes." It was some type of urban city slang that implied the beating or violent act toward another person. _

_I had never considered it, it seemed plausible, but I wasn't certain of myself. Could I muster the courage? Would I be angry enough the next time?_

_"She's bigger than me." I confess, dolefully. _

_"Then you'll just have to punch her in the throat." She grins and points to the spot just under her chin._

_I nod, looking away, towards the playground. I wonder if revenge was worth the punishment I would receive._

_-_

I could feel John's eyes on me, and somewhere, a fire was extinguished. My skin still prickled angrily, I bit my mouth, sedating the coming frenzy.

"Do we have a problem?" She tantalized.

I glanced at John's expression. It was one of warning. "No," I sighed, "Of course not." It took everything I had.

I looked down, peeking up once to see her nod and turn, leaving for the other side of the room. I stood there, totally defeated. Maybe it was a good thing, but one would say it sucked.

-

"I'm an idiot." I told Mark as I shrugged out of my jacket in a secret room somewhere downstairs. He had hurriedly taken me there after the confrontation, so I could cool off. He didn't know, but I knew John had told him to.

Mark was making me coffee. I hoped it wouldn't be too hard to keep down. I was having too much trouble eating at the time.

"You're not an idiot, not for speaking your mind. Not for being brilliant and sticking to what you believe in." He paused. "But it's probably better if you follow John's lead from here on out." He offered me a bagel, I shook my head. He sat it in front of me anyhow, it was warm and smelled good. I stared at it, and willed myself to have at least one bite. I ignored it after that.

"What do you mean?" I said, mouth half full.

"I mean, this game is far too complex to contradict what he's already planned."

"And what is that exactly?" My feet were hurting, so I slid out of my brown moccasins and pushed them under the table with my foot.

"John anticipates Eric Matthews to lash out at him, for the kidnapping of his son. It's not what anyone wants, it's merely something almost...inevitable. Still...John is giving him a chance."

I looked up at Mark, furrowing my brow. "Inevitable?" I couldn't believe that one man's fate could be so entirely foreseen. No matter what he's done in the past.

"You obviously don't know Eric."

-

_This stress is really fucking me over._

I thought I would run to the store barefoot and just buy a pack of Newports. I mean, I was seriously considering it. I only wanted one. I would throw the rest out. I had drank my whole cup of coffee, my bagel was sitting in the trash with one bite taken from it, and a couple of little black ants having the rest. But man, was I craving. I started taking deep breaths, and counting backwards from sixty, someone said that if you can stop thinking about it for exactly one minute, then your craving would go away. I really doubted it. Then I got scared, because I remembered where I learned that quitting tactic from.

_Mommy._

I thought I was stronger than that.

As I sat, with my head on the table and my arms folded under my head, I could feel nothing but the silence creeping up on me, and then Mark's soothing grasp on my shoulders. He leaned closer to me, kneading the stress from my bones.

"Tense, huh." He said almost wryly, making me hum with satisfaction.

I grinned, eyes closed. "Don't ask."

"I wasn't going to." I could hear the smile in in his tone. "Don't move." He said.

"Hmm?" I didn't think about it, but I did as he said.

Then I felt his breath on my neck, it caught me off guard but I did my best not to move. Every kiss left along the side of my neck was a new chill running down my spine. My hands were on my lap, my fingers pressing into my thighs. I clenched my teeth to keep from sighing with fondness. I finally relaxed, while he worked his fingers into me. I let my head fall forward a bit, but leaned back at a point as he spoke low in my ear. "We can always be like this." He purred. I was tense again, afraid to fall. I stood up, turning and leaning against the table. We faced each other, daring to be so concentrated.

"So..." I searched for the words. "Is that really what you want? Just me? _'always'?_"

He was not far from me, "Is that something you _wouldn't_ want? Because I always assumed you wanted something enduring."

"Of course that's what _I want._.." I wrung my hands. "I just don't think it's something I can be for someone else. I'm a ruined person..."

"I see." He said, wistfully. "If you really believe that, then...we'll change that, I think." He held out his hand invitingly.

"I can only hope." I told him, taking it, pulling him towards me instead of the other way around.

He placed a hand on my waist, I swayed. It was almost a waltz, except there was more passion, and no music.

" 'He who has hoped, can never despair.' " Mark leaned down and kissed my jawbone.

I thought for a moment, "Caesar and Cleopatra?"

He nodded, and looking more pensive than before. I hated him like this, I preferred when he would wear his emotions on his sleeve for me. I wasn't always good at figuring people out. Things were much easier when he was readable. I stared up at him, as he held me and looked straight at the door. I wasn't paying attention to what he was; I was only absorbed by his demeanor and what I could readily do or say to fix it.

"Help me, help you." He said, never looking away from the door.

I rested my head on him, sighing. "Alright."

As the words left my mouth, I heard a scurry from behind the door. Mark must have known it was coming, as he was already watching it, when I turned to look. The door opened, and Amanda ran inside looking frazzled. I finally concluded that Eric Matthew's game had just begun.

I tried to speak.

"No time, They're here!" She said, forcing me off of Mark and pulling me towards the exit. He stood by, watching me go. My feet were moving, but my heart stayed behind. He waved, smiling a sad smile that made me say something incredible as we went. I mouthed, 'I love you' in the last seconds, before Amanda and I were pushing further into the dark.

-

Amanda and I fled to a safe location. We did not drive. We wore the hoods on our jackets, and walked briskly down seven blocks in the cold, to a bus stop, which took us to a dirty old motel, all so we wouldn't blow our covers. I knew it was worth it, but as I found myself stuck in a used up old room, watching television (which I hate) with Amanda Young (whom I hate) I was beginning to think it wasn't.

I sat on one of the two beds in the room, the sheets were dusty pink and were decorated with green lotus flowers. They smelled like lemon fabric spray, and cigarette smoke (which made me increasingly frustrated). My stomach made angry noises, but I couldn't feel the discomfort of hunger. I was numb from the neck down. I fell to my side, and curled into the fetal position, closing myself off from the world; which was just Amanda Young at the moment. She was clipping her fingernails over the trash can, muttering to herself. We didn't speak to each other much, our interactions were mostly comprised of short stares and annoyed huffs. I could see John looking at me in my mind's eye, I could see him judging my newfound disallegience. It was not what I intended, though. I only wanted us to stay together safely. The very last place I wanted to be was separated from Mark and John. And so I despised these walls, and for once, I despised the rules.

This wasn't to say I wasn't going to follow them. No, I wasn't a complete idiot. I knew how things were done in this new life, and I didn't know any better way. All I had known before this were perverted men in cheap cars who brought me to cheap rooms where they smelled like cheap liquor. So things were better here, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out. And I knew that I never wanted to go back. I had survived my upbringing, my poor decisions, and my consequences. Surely I could put up with this, at least for the time being. It was the least I could offer...to John. He was not as kind with everyone as he was towards me. I had to endure for him, because he had already suffered so much for the greater good.

I picked my body up from the bed, ignoring the ache in my abdomen and walked towards the mirror on the dresser across the room. I pushed some hair out of my face, tried unsuccessfully to smile, look pretty. To reflect the supposed good on the inside, onto the outside. It was a struggle.

_I cant be the greater good._ I thought. _There only used to be something good here._

_But its been through too much, and it doesn't want to come out anymore._

-


	22. Saw II

* * *

At approximately six-thirty, Eric Matthews' game was nearing its end and Amanda, who had her role to play as well, was paged near that same time by Mark Hoffman. She was lying idly on the bed next to mine, hair in unruly tufts. We waited in the motel where we were hiding out for the duration of the game. Prior to the paging, it had been dead silent in the room, except for the occasional cough or sniffle (Thanks to it being the middle of December) and we both jumped up awkwardly when we heard the series of little beeps.

"Is it?-" I sat up immediately, hoping she would let me see, or at least fill me in properly.

"Shh…" She held a finger to her lips without looking at me; she stared down at the little screen of the pager, carefully reading the instructions.

I waited patiently.

"Well?" I asked.

Without a word, she leaped from the bed, swiftly grabbing her jacket and running for the door. I was like lightning after her. We left so quickly, we didn't even turn off the light or lock the door. I nearly fell down the front stairs chasing her.

"Amanda! You're gonna kill me!"

She sped up. "Better you than John!" She called back.

I almost stopped in my tracks. Not wanting to process what that might have meant, I gained speed, running blindly after her down the empty urban streets.

-

We had run all the way back to the parking lot and driven the van to our first location, where the bathroom was hidden. Somehow, this place tied into the new game, I had guessed. Amanda was proficient, producing a key from her jacket that didn't know she had, and let us into the warehouse.

We weaved into the labyrinth of corridors and eventually found ourselves at the sliding metal doors that served as the entrance into our very first bloodbath. Not exactly thrilled to see what had become of the place in our time away, I moved out of the way so Amanda could do the honors. She heaved them open, turning on the light. The smell was mind numbingly rancid, I meant to cover my nose but wasn't thinking, and so the stench hit me like a semi. That, combined with the sight I unwittingly took in when Amanda turned on the light was enough to kill a fly. I turned, and started violently dry-heaving, putting more strain on my already tormented tummy.

I looked up through watery eyes at Amanda, who was rolling hers, her hand over her nose.

"Lucky for you, you don't have to wait in here." She said with faux sweetness.

"What? Then where do you expect I go?" I was confused yet again.

"Upstairs. Into the house." She said it in the way a person speaks when they expect you to have already known what they have just informed you of. It was just short of belittlement.

"The…where?" Lost was I.

"The. House. You know, the hellhole I just escaped from?" She strolled into the bathroom, with the least bit of cautiousness and began looking around for something.

I stayed where I was. "So you mean…_this _is where the house was?"

"Obviously. You better hurry and get out of the way; we wouldn't want Eric to suspect that his son isn't actually here…" She spotted what she was looking for and walked towards it, stepping unfazed over a corpse that I assumed was Zep Hindle.

I hesitated, looking behind me. "Right…" I paused, feeling watched. "So you're going to be here?"

"Yep." What she found was a black plastic bag. She opened it, extracting the pig mask and syringes filled with whatever she would need for Eric. From the color I deduced it was John's abduction drug of choice. I wasn't sure then, why would need Eric alive, no matter what the outcome of this game was.

"You sure you don't want me to wait there too? You'd rather be alone?" Not that I actually wanted to accompany her, I was merely asking myself if I were in her position, would I rather be in a room with decaying death alone or with another person?

"Yeah." She paused, contemplating. "This will be like his…redemption. Mine too. Matthews has had this coming to him for a very long time. I think I'd rather try this solo. You don't know how long I've waited for this." She smirked, placing the pig mask over her head.

So, I left Amanda there, closing the door as she hid in the bathroom and waited.

-

I was wishing for a flashlight as I walked down the dark corridors and made my way up the stairs into the house, using the trap door. It was closed when I found it, so I reached up, pushing with both hands until I saw light. Then I poked my head up.

There were two bodies in this room.

I knew the Black male to be Jonas, but there was a sheet covering the other one. Almost thankful to be an unhealthy one hundred and five pounds at my age, I was able to pull myself up into the room with no trouble. Once getting my footing, I closed the secret door carefully, and walked briskly across the floor towards the door which was wide open. As I left, I examined the gun that was rigged into the door. I was intrigued by the first trap already, and was eager to see the rest.

As I came into the hall, the fading waves of the substance irritated the inside of my nose. It was faint though, meaning it was no longer being pumped into the house. There was also a sick kind of aroma that hung in the air, like Death's pheromones. My throat grew dry as I moved further down the long stretch. I stopped in the foyer, observed, and carried on. I tried the staircase, walking up cautiously, watching for any thin wires that may have been drawn out before my legs.

I motivated myself to the top. I had a strong idea of what to expect, keeping in mind that my strong ideas are juxtaposed with a weak soul.

There was a short hall before me, a small number of options to consider. Three doors. As soon as I stepped towards the first one, I heard someone's approach. I ignored it in pursuit of closure. I sped up, trying the first door, it didn't budge. Panicky now, I hurried towards the next. It opened but only slightly and I was able to peek inside and see a large mechanism with clamps for one's hands. I turned away from that door, having only one option left.

As I faced the door, I barely thought before I placed my hand on its knob. I could hear a close set of footsteps now. I turned my head from the door; hand still firm on the handle. Mark's voice called me before I could enter. I was not surprised that he came here after me.

"Don't-" I heard him say urgently.

I looked at him, pensively for a moment, furrowing my brows. "Is she-" I wanted to see for myself. I opened the door too quick, before I could brace myself. My eyes were low, I slowly raised them.

There was a small puddle of blood at her feet. She was limp like an old rag doll, just like I had seen before on the screen.

Nothing compares to the real thing however. It was like I had begun to close up my old wound and then someone ripped me a fresh one with sheer force and anger.

-

"_Ellie?" She looks beautiful; she teases her hair that I have just straightened at home. She uses a car window as her mirror. _

"_Yep. Still here." I assure her. Grinning as I wait for her. I don't try to rush her. It is evening. We are on our way to Addison's new night job; a diner called Roxxane's which stays open twenty-four-seven. She has dolled up for her first day. Actually, it's not as if she doesn't always look amazing. I plan to work 135__th__ until she gets off, and then we plan to walk back to my place for celebratory food and drinks. I hope she will have a superb first day and then she will never look back to her old ways. Ways that I have been trying to shake off, but find daily that I don't have strength. I realize that she is more ambitious and wiser than me, so I pray silently that everything goes smoothly for her. Inward I realize that if Addison can't, no one can._

"_Do you think I'm a good dancer? I mean would you pay money to watch me dance?" Addison takes her attention away from her reflection and looks at me directly. This is very important to her and I grasp that. I want my answer to please her, but I want to be honest as well. That seems too hard to do, so I try to make a lighthearted joke instead._

"_Depends." I say. She fixes her hair until she deems it sufficient and then she walks away with me._

"_On what?" She's taken aback._

"_On allota shit." I laugh. "Are you break dancing or lap dancing?" I burst into fits._

_She shoves me playfully with a mock angry face. "Neither stupid, like ballet…dancing."_

_I think about this. I try to imagine Addison in a pink frilly leotard dancing as the Sugar Plum Fairy in The Nutcracker. It seems comical at first, but then I remember how graceful she can be when she's in a good mood and it doesn't strike me as impossible for her to achieve this goal. I imagine myself watching Addison dance as I sit in the largest audience ever before her, and it's not filled with rowdy men, instead filled with gentlemen and ladies with fine taste and cash to burn. I visualize being in my seat that I have legitimately paid two hundred dollars for, and I picture my eyes welling up with tears as she performs. I am the happiest I have been in a long time, because she is my best friend. I recall her dedication and strength of will, and then for the first time, I believe in her dream as much as she does. I smile at her, full of sincerity._

"_You? A Ballerina? That's hilarious." Another voice speaks from behind us before I can answer her seriously. The voice's owner has been eavesdropping. It is a male's voice._

"_Shut the fuck up David." I say, watching Addison's face fall. "How would you know what she dances like?"_

_He looks amused, like I just walked right into some joke he planned._

"_Oh trust me…" He gives me the once over with his dissecting eyes."…slut. I've seen her dance." He grins a sickeningly satisfied grin._

_I roll my eyes, Addison shoves him. "Get the hell outta here you jerk!" We begin to walk faster._

_He keeps up with us. He isn't willing to go so easily. "Alright, alright, I'll leave. But first you gotta do something for me. There's something in it for you." He dives into his Armani pants pocket and fishes out a one-hundred dollar bill. He then grabs Addison's wrist, she has stopped and waited for his offer. He tucks it into Addison's hand. He winks deviously. He leans into Addison's ear and murmurs "There's more where that came from..."_

"_Why can't you just go see one of those prep school blondes of yours?" I step in between them. "Trust fund too small? Among other things…"_

"_Why can't you get a real job?" He sneers back at me. "Too ignorant to fill out a resume?"_

_I don't catch his eye; I look to Addison, wondering if she will soon back me up. She is staring down at her fist which holds the money. I worry._

_Addison has never turned down David. David has never backed down from his pursuits. Thanks to a false sense of entitlement and too much green. David was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and King Midas for a daddy. His parents were disgustingly rich, unhappily married and willing to leave him everything after they died. Complete with estate and six month old French Poodle, Blondie. David has apparently never worked a day in his glittering life and drives his father's Mercedes everywhere. Especially to this street on irregular Sunday evenings, where he always finds exactly who he's looking for. Exactly who she is, he doesn't care. Exactly what she's willing to do for him, well, that's highly imperative. _

_I shake my head at Addie. "Don't." I whisper, staring her down._

"_Mind your business bitch." David glares at me, I don't see his face. I see a snarling, hungry hyena. I give Addison another look, she doesn't look back. I take a step, trying to get her to follow suit. She stands, looking at me and then looking at David. She makes her decision. She takes my hand, pulling me closer and she speaks into my ear._

"_I gotta pay off my mom's bills…" She says desperately. "Then I promise I'm done." I look at her sternly._

"_I'm not judging you. I can't." I bite my lip. "I just think…" I sigh. "Forget it."_

"_Yes, he's obviously a sleaze ball. Which one of these guys out here isn't?" She replies._

_I nod regretfully._

"_I'll catch you later. I'll probably be at Brenda's." I tell her. She nods and promises to meet me there. She let's go of my hand to take David's. He smirks at me because he knows he has won this battle. I give him the finger. Addison doesn't notice, she is fixing her hair in the car window again._

_I watch her go, she blows me a kiss, and I pretend to catch it. But I know it's been picked up by a breeze, falling and drifting away as it dissipates. _

_-_

"Help me get her out of there." I didn't wait for his agreement; I eased inside and then hovered near her for a moment, tip toeing around the blood.

I stared at a piece of abstract art, her red arms painted sharply, her legs dangling side by side. Her soft expression, eyes closed peacefully. She may very well have been sleeping.

I felt arms around me, holding fast and effectively leading me away. I'm sure words were spoken, but I didn't hear. Once I was back in the hall, it was almost as if a trance had been lifted and I was able to focus again. Mark's expression was grim, I noticed because for once I could read him.

"We have to go. I don't know why Amanda sent you here." He gestured to myself and then to our surroundings.

"What?" My voice was at a level tone. It didn't reflect my inner mind.

"John's hurt…" He paused momentarily. The way someone does when they have a lot of bad news, and they want to give it to you one excruciating piece at a time, so as not to overwhelm you. "Bad." He took a grip on my forearms before I could act in response. I had to wait, and take it in.

I broke away from him, stumbling sideways a little. I was having muscle spasms in my leg, and difficulty breathing.

I shook my head. "No." My words said I didn't believe Mark, but my actions showed that I was utterly terrified. He began to lead me away as the blank stare on my face transformed into a pained expression. He started slow for me, but I then broke into a run.

He started after me; we were soon at the same pace. All I could see and hear in my mind's eye was-

_"Well, hypothetically of course...and for your sake, let's say something were to happen to John..."_

_I tried to process the words. "__What__?" I became angry._

_"What if he was seriously hurt, or...Rivielle, what if he died? What would you do then?"_

_"Nothing." I considered. "I would do nothing. Life would have much less __meaning__."_

I then ran much faster than Mark. Bounding, no, flying down the stairs and eventually, back down the trap door.

-


	23. Prepared

I fell down the trap door, but landed on my feet unusually gracefully. Straightening myself, I headed for the exit. Mark tailed me, and I noticed he kept talking to me. His tone kept switching from pleading and then to demanding; but being beside myself, I scarcely cared for, nor acknowledged the words. Of course I wasn't listening to him. I only endeavored to figure out what I would do when I got to John. And still, I was trying to keep my imagination at bay; I struggled with the thought of what might have happened. I wanted only to be there with him, if I truly could do nothing to help.

But there he was.

In the passenger seat of the van, which sat in plain view of passerby, and then I stood frozen, while Mark continued on. He stopped, looked back at me, and stared bewildered while I shook off the initial shock of John, sitting there, obviously beaten and bloodied.

And he wasn't moving.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I took one step, and then it was easier to walk. I remember wanting to hold myself back, as this was the second time today I had rushed into seeing something that I knew would be too difficult to take. Still, those days, taking our time was a luxury that none of us could afford. I sprinted to the van, grabbing onto John's door, gripping it so tight I thought my fingers would bleed. He stirred, and I exploded into the sobs of a maid who has learned her only love has returned from the red-soaked war, having narrowly escaped with his life. I was inconceivably relieved, and so finally, there was too much emotion to hold in any longer.

Then, very slowly, John placed his finger to his lips. Obediently, I pried my hands off of the car door, using them to shut my wailing mouth, while taking deep breaths through my nose. I was able to calm and hush myself. He held out his hand then. Quickly and carefully, I took it, using both hands once more, to hold his. Almost forgetting what he was supposed to be doing, Mark stopped to watch our interaction. I wouldn't realize until later what was going on in his mind.

I tried to speak, but John shook his head 'No'.

"Elle, you drive." Mark broke the silent connection we developed and ordered me.

I blatantly ignored him, still holding John's hand and savoring the moment.

"Get in the car now." He commanded once more.

I glanced up at him once, smiling knowingly, finding his attempt at being intimidating somewhat amusing.

"I'm not playing around, what do you think this is, some kind of game?!"

"As a matter of fact, I do!" I watched as he understood the dark humor, but turned away from me, pulling his ringing cell phone from his pocket.

"Amanda, is he secure?" He urgently questioned.

He paused. Amanda's voice on the other line was calm and low, so much so that I couldn't make out what she was saying to him, but I was reassured by the assumption that she had everything with Detective Matthews under control. I then heard her pause, and she spoke again. This time, a question.

"John? I'm still unsure…" He murmured into the phone.

"That's fine, meet us outside." He snapped the phone shut, not resuming speaking to me. Instead he walked past me coldly, as I continued to caress John's hand soothingly. John winced in pain as my fingers grazed his ring finger.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Detective Matthews…" He took a breath, and before he had to labor on with his next sentence, I knew what he'd done. That beast of a man had broken John's finger.

I continued on holding his hand, whispering sweet nothings to him while Mark eyed me spitefully on the other side of the van. When Amanda returned, looking triumphant at first, she then focused her sights towards John and I. Her dark eyes traveled back and forth between us, and then she walked calmly towards the three of us.

"Where do we go from here?" She was talking to Mark, not trying to trouble a wearied John. Mark shifted his weight nervously. For once, he was at a loss as to what to do.

I was desperately tired and wanted to go home. John still clung to my hand and to his life.

I was staring at him, "We need to get h-him to a hospital." I sniffled.

"Are you crazy?" Amanda scoffed, and then laughed. "A hospital. As if we don't have everything we need back at the safe house."

"OH!" I yelled sarcastically, "You mean the same safe house that is now swarming with cops?!" I let go of John, turning towards her.

Mark edged closer to us, sensing an approaching conflict.

I stood my ground, not intimidated.

"Rivielle…" John whispered. I turned away from them. It seemed that they had subconsciously teamed up against me in order to have their way. And since it had backfired, they fumed in silence. I refused to abet it.

He held out a small scrap of paper, there was thin black writing on it. I accepted it, and began to unfold it.

An address.

"Do we go here?" I asked him softly.

He nodded, closing his eyes as I pressed my palm to his cold cheek.

-

For the four months that followed, I fought to live normally.

We had relocated ourselves to a new building, where John had been placed on bed rest. He seemed to both improve and weaken more and more every day. His finger began to heal, slowly but surely, but I barely ever left his side. He was deteriorating in front of me and there was nothing I could do. I stayed by his bed day after day, as they turned into nights and those nights became mornings. They were glorious mornings with more enrichment and insight than the last. John was a fountain of knowledge, a never ending book with every answer I had ever sought. I always knew myself to be a confused person, a little girl who had become a woman before she could learn to walk. But here John was, waiting with open arms for me to stop crawling and walk to him. I knew it was in my power, and every day I came closer.

Somehow, as much as I wanted to be with him, it scared me.

I was terrified by how much I depended on him. It was as though my happiness, my sanity, my hope in mankind and for the future depended on John's presence in my life. I needed him so much more than he needed me, so in conjuncture with my fear, I felt useless and inferior.

So in truth, I had never lived a normal life, but this was the furthest from it I had ever been. I neglected Mark as well as myself, much to his blatant, but silent rage.

"Are you going to apologize to me?"

"I haven't done anything wrong." I tell him uncompromisingly.

"You could've at least _tried _to be considerate."

I thought on this, wondering if my blatant affections for John offended him, if he could have actually felt intimidated by John for it. I wondered if Mark understood that my relationship with him was something entirely different than the one I had with John. I wondered if Mark knew that I loved him as well, just not as ardently.

I reached for his hand. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." I wanted to calm him, but knew that the apology was insincere. How could I be sorry for something I felt so deeply? I wouldn't be.

"Of course you didn't think." He murmured spitefully. "No room for any thought in that head of yours but your silly little fixations."

"Excuse me?" Alright. Now I'm upset.

"Just forget it; you've already forgotten me, along with the rest of the world, or anything else that might matter. I'm done." He pulled out of my grasp, storming off.

_Done?_

"Done with me? Now why is that?!" I got up, and started to chase him down. "Is it because I don't spend every waking moment of the day with you and your thoughts? Because I can't devote myself to you endlessly like you did for me..." I paused; he had simply stopped in his tracks, almost turning to me. "...To Angelina?" I whispered, for the words were harsh, the least I could've done was soften the tone.

He did not come back to me as I expected. He sighed deeply and continued walking, without as much as a goodbye, through the door.

-

I was crushed when he did not return for several days.

Amanda's was the only other face I saw when I was not able to be with John for physical reasons like sleeping and eating. I had begun eating more heartily when John commented on my sunken collarbones and gaunt waist. In just three weeks I had started feeling more energetic and my color had returned. He noticed that as well. He would sit up and bed and listen to me talk, something I had rarely done when Mark was around to listen instead. But after a month of Mark being away, I had begun to see it as a blessing in disguise.

"John," I crossed my legs as I sat in a chair next to his hospital bed, we had been discussing the next game and I was getting increasingly more anxious. "I'm worried."

"An appropriate emotion." He said.

"So I should be worried then." I bit my nail, staring at the wall.

"You should be prepared, is what I'm telling you."

Prepared? I paused, a pang of fear shot through me in one painful hit. Like an injection you're not expecting. You feel the pain before you can register what's happened. You can only resume your thought process once the sting has subsided.

I choked out, "For what?"

"In the event of my death, you should be prepared. You might not wish to consider the possibility, but it is very real."

Heat rose up in my cheeks like I was being filled with freshly seared coals. My palms were shiny with perspiration. My eyes welled up and I braced myself for tears.

I breathed deeply, "What should I do?" And then the first tear fell down the side of my face. I gasped, hurriedly wiping it away, praying John wouldn't notice my weakness.

He did.

"Rivielle, you should know better than anyone that you don't have to hide from me."

I nodded solemnly, looking away from him.

"Some things we hide, to give those we love a chance to see who we've become through _their_ love." I tell him, hugging my knees to my chest.

That night, as I curled up in the armchair, equipped with a pillow and afghan, (which I knitted myself, you'd be surprised how much you can do with hours of silence and a profound hatred of television…) I fell asleep to the sound of John's EKG monitor. As I listened to his heart rate, and felt the dull thump of my own, it was like we were one person, (in fact, the only people in the world) and being so comforted by this, I sighed blissfully into my last calm sleep for months to come.


	24. Stories

_I watch silently from across the street. I stand on the grounds of my high school campus. It is the last day of school, three o'clock, sophomore year. I am a hormonal, uncontrollable sixteen years of age. I have to squint to keep the sun out of my eyes, as it is a warm, sunlit summer day and I'm straining to see who it is across the street that keeps signaling me to come closer. _

_I have always been cautious, so I don't move immediately. I'm trying to see who they are and if we've met before. As the clouds leisurely start to obstruct the sun, I am able to see clearer. I do not recognize him. He's older obviously, and not from the school. He leans on his car, a black 1995 Lotus Elan. I watch, entranced as he beckons me with his finger, smiling invitingly. I don't realize it then, but he is exactly my type at this stage in my life. Young, but older than myself (and therefore more experienced), a bad boy (prone to getting into heaps of trouble), and of course, somebody unattainable by all means. _

_He smiles at me from across the way, and I know without a doubt that he can't be looking at me. I turn, looking behind me to see which gorgeous female senior he belongs to. But I find that I am the only girl out in the front, as the football team is practicing several yards behind me. And therefore he's gesturing to me. My heart stops as I turn back around and I see him crossing the street, he is still smiling, only now it has turned into some sort of smirk, and I find it exceedingly attractive. _

_That is, I find __**him**__, exceedingly attractive. He has auburn, unruly curls and a pearly smile. His facial hair is rugged and grown-up; more mature than the smooth-faced baby boys who barely notice me at school. I am flustered by him immediately, and I find my knees are steadily giving way to my heart which is swelling with my fast pumping blood and estrogen. _

_He speaks to me, and I go numb all over. Except for my face, which is hot with blush. _

"_Do you go here?" He asks me, pointing to my high school. It is an ancient building, it's been around since 1943, and has a rich history. I am usually ready to spout all of its information to a curious passerby, because I have become a nerdy bookworm of a teenager; or in my mother's words- "a smart mouthed know-it-all". But now I cannot speak. He has literally taken my breath away in a matter of four words and a smile. I am stricken by his flawlessness._

_I cannot stop staring dumbly at him. I force myself to say-_

"_I do." It sounds like I've just accepted a wedding vow. _

_He holds out his hand, so as to shake mine. "I'm Christian…Chris." _

_I hesitate; my palms are starting to sweat. I take his hand anyway. "Rivielle."_

"_What?" He cocks his head to the side in confusion. Either I have spoken too softly, or he doesn't understand how to pronounce my stupid name, which is a Persian name; although I haven't the slightest bit of Persian in my blood. _

"_Rivielle." I speak up, pronouncing each syllable slowly and correctly. "Just call me Elle." I tell him, so as to cease confusion. _

_He shakes his head. "Can I call you sweetheart?" _

_I laugh; I can't understand why he's flirting with me. Me! Of all people. Of all the easier girls who are available at school, of all the older, more beautiful, more experienced girls…_

_Still, before I know it, I'm sitting next to him in the passenger seat of his Lotus, he lets me control his car stereo, and he's driving me home. He drops me off, opens my door, and walks me to the complex. He is an absolute gentleman. He asks for my number, and I tell him honestly that my mom doesn't always keep the phone on. He says he understands and gives me his number instead. Within a month, he has driven me home every single day and even bought me a cellular phone. _

"_Why are you doing this?" I ask him, holding the shiny black cell in my hands. "I'm just a kid…I don't have anything to offer."_

_He apparently finds this hilarious, because he starts laughing at me exuberantly._

"_Oh babe," He almost never calls me by my actual name. It is always a sugary pet name, something cute and exchangeable. The more I think about it, the more it bothers me. It's almost as if I'm not myself around him, I'm someone he can mold to his liking. The woman in me wants out. The girl in me __**wants**__ to be molded to his liking. In this short month, I've fallen for him. "You just don't realize how much you can offer yet. You've got it."He says the last part in a whisper. I believe him._

_**It? What is it?**_

_**-**_

_Chris and I begin dating behind my mother's back. Not that she would take action if I told her. She'd put me down like usual, then shut herself up in her room, and drink until she passes out. So I prolong my habits, staying out late with Chris and barely coming home. Before I know it, Chris is asking me why I even bother coming back at all._

"_I don't know why I do…I just don't want to move into a group home."_

_He scoffs, "What the hell, baby, you do know you can move in with me right?" He stares at me, questioningly._

_I bite my nail. We sit in front of my building in his Lotus, and he gives me a moment of contemplation. _

"_I could…" I say, still thinking it over._

"_But you won't." _

"_I didn't say that, Chris."_

"_You will. Or you'll probably say yes and then chicken out at the last minute." He looks out his car window and shakes his head. "Just admit that you're still a baby girl," He then turns to me and pinches my cheek condescendingly. "Too scared to grow up."_

_I fold my arms, and glare at him. "I'm not a baby." _

"_Prove it." He dares me._

_-_

_I run up four flights of stairs and then I reach my floor. I brace myself, and open my front door. My mother is sitting at the kitchen table, smoking and watching a soap opera. I jet past her, Chris's duffle bag in hand, and run into my room. I throw all the clothes within my reach inside. Then I grab fifty dollars I've saved, a silver necklace that Chris bought me, and an old photo album which contains an old, ripped photo of my father in 1987. I toss these things in the bag, and by that time, my mother has come snooping in. Her eyes catch mine and she sees the panic and urgency. She then notices the duffle bag on my shoulder._

"_Where…" Her voice is roughened from the years of inhaled smoke. "The fuck do you think you're going?!"_

_I don't speak, I try to shove past her, but she pulls my hair back. I scream. I can hear Chris running up the stairs in the hall out side. I throw my bag out of the room and spin frantically in her grasp. _

"_Get off of me! Get off!" I'm fighting her off. She takes her lit cigarette, pulls up my shirt a few inches, and presses it to my bare waist. It sears me agonizingly, and my screams are cut off by my gasp of shock. Chris is banging on the front door as I scream for him. My mother is now holding my hands behind my back, as well as the tight grip she has on my hair. I am crying and screaming myself hoarse. Chris finally knocks in the door and bolts in. _

"_Who the hell are you!?" My mother yells, Chris doesn't respond to her. He tackles the both of us, and I am able to wrestle myself free. I take Chris' hand and together we escape from the room, grabbing my bag of items before my mother can compose herself. Just before I leave, I turn with tears in my eyes to see the defeated woman lying in a heap beside my bed. Chris urges me not to stop but I hold back on his grasp for the quickest second._

"_Mom!" I call her; she stirs, and looks at me from the room. All rage gone from her countenance. I can barely speak, I'm completely distressed. "I'm sorry." I mouth to her. Chris pulls me out of the apartment. The door slams, and we are racing down the stairs. I am laughing and crying. For the first time in my life, I feel free. But I know, even then, that I will never see my mother again. _

_-_

"_Whooooo!" Chris is going 70 on a highway that goes into the next state. He rolls down the windows and turns the underground rock metal radio station up loudly. He is excited. He whoops and hollers out the window in abounding exhilaration. I stare drearily out mine. I rest my head on my fist and watch him. I can't understand why he would be so excited about some boring minor living with him. At this point, we have never ever touched each other except for a greeting, or good night kiss. Chris is always extremely careful of how far we go with each other. I take that to mean that he wouldn't want to end up in jail, as I am just short of seventeen, and he's somewhere between twenty four and thirty. He's never specified his age to me. We barely have the same interests in movies, or music. We disagree on world issues, and we even hate each others food preferences. Even after months, I still haven't the slightest idea of what he sees in me. All I can comprehend is that I believe I'm in love with him, and how grateful I am that he's saved me from my mother, and myself. My knight in shining armor._

_We arrive in the next state four hours later. Chris checks us into a gorgeous hotel room, and my stomach turns. I look down at my too-big black shirt, my tight blue jeans and my ragged converse sneakers, I know I don't belong here, and so do the guests. They stare at me and Chris as he struts over to the clerk and asks for a room. He pays with a Platinum card and my eyes widen. _

"_I thought you worked in a deli. How the hell can you afford this place?" I whisper up at him. He pretends he didn't hear me. And for the first time since I've been with Chris I consider leaving him. _

_But I know I can't now. He's driven me two or three states away, I can't remember. I have fifty bucks in my bag, and no place to go besides with him. I am no idiot. So I smile at Chris and then at the clerk, who calls on a busboy to take my bag. I hold it closer, protectively, to myself, shaking my head when he offers to carry it. The busboy looks to Chris, who takes my bag from me. "Its okay, they don't look through people's things here." Letting my guard down, I watch as Chris hands the busboy the bag. They exchange a look that appears strange to me, and I furrow my brows suspiciously. The busboy leads us to the elevator. I resolve to be extra cautious from this point on. _

_-_

_I find myself sitting on a large, luxurious bed with pearl-colored, Egyptian cotton sheets. Chris is showering in the bathroom. The suite is undoubtedly the most expensive place I've ever seen in real life, let alone sleep in for the night. I stare at the big, flat screen television that I refuse to watch, and I am very anxious. By the way things have been presented to me tonight, I have now come to the conclusion that Chris wants something more than a goodnight peck on the cheek. As I listen to the running shower, I suddenly feel my life being irrevocably distorted. And I am afraid. I have a sense of something ominous approaching. I wonder if I can make a run for it. I look quickly for the door. Then, the shower stops suddenly, as if Chris can feel my fickle feelings, and all my hopes for going back disperse instantly._

"_Baby," He calls._

"_Yeah love?" I say instinctively._

"_Why don't you clean up, and change? I want you to meet some people." He says from inside the bathroom. _

_My heart stops. Who could he possibly want me to meet at this hour? I look at the clock, it says 12:24._

"_Sure babe." I respond blankly._

_-_

_I step into the shower gingerly, turn the water on and begin hyperventilating. My side pains me and I look down to notice the cigarette burn I have forgotten about. It has begun to turn a painful dark purple hue on my waist. A bit of blood seeps out of it. I resolve to disinfect the wound after I shower. My legs ache and so I run the warm water on them first. I ease myself into the water slowly._

_I wash quickly, listening for anything unexpected. _

"_Babe?" Chris calls from outside the bathroom._

"_Yes?" I answer._

"_Make sure you wash your hair, I'm gonna go get you some nail polish." I can hear him grabbing his keys._

"_Um…O-Okay." _

_I write the strangeness of it off as his care and desire to pamper me on our first night together. I lower my head into the water stream. I open my eyes to see several strands of my hair falling out and running down the shower drain. I close my eyes again to see my mother grabbing my hair and wrapping it around her hand to restrain me from Chris. I begin washing my hair._

_I wrap a towel around myself; it's big, white and fluffy. I turn to see myself in the bathroom mirror. The lighting in the room is nice, and it makes my skin appear to glow. I feel pretty. I dry my face with a hand towel and then kneel in front of the sink to have better access to the cabinet below. Inside there is spare toilet paper, cotton swabs, women's toiletries, and a first aid kit. Exactly what I was looking for. I open it on the bathroom counter, inspecting the contents. _

_I remove a band aid, a small tube of antibiotic ointment, and an alcohol pad. The latter I open, and open my white towel to expose my waist and the cigarette wound that blemishes it. I clench my teeth and run the alcohol pad across the wound, it stings mildly but I know it is necessary to kill the germs. I then apply the ointment and tape the band aid over it. The burning is dulled, but my emotional scarring will continue._

_I comb my hair out and tie it up. I open the bathroom door to find a clean outfit waiting for me on the bed. It is trashier than I'm used to, but I suppose if Chris likes it, then I should too. I pull my own underwear from my duffle bag. I slip into the denim miniskirt with the frayed ends, and then into the black tube top. I also find a pair of black heels sitting on the nightstand by the bed. I try them on, and they are exactly my size. I have never worn heels, and when I stand, I find they are as difficult to walk in as everyone says. I try and walk gracefully around the room, but to no avail. I kick off the heels bitterly and go find my own comfortable converse. As I'm tying them, I hear the beep of the hotel card key in the door. I stand quickly, smoothing my hair as Chris enters leisurely and looks me over. _

"_You. Look. So good…" His grin falls when he stops, notices something off, and then asks in an irritated tone- _

"_Where are your heels?" _

_I freeze; I didn't think it would matter._

"_I-I…I couldn't walk in them baby…" I speak as softly and as apologetically as possible._

"_What?" He shakes his head, apparently disappointed in me, like I had ruined some plans he'd arranged. "Just- just go get them and throw em' in your bag there. You __**will**__ learn to walk in them."_

_I hesitate in picking up the shoes. "You…you're telling me what to do?"_

_He looks at me sternly. He cocks his head to the side, staring at me with disapproval. He folds his arms. "Yeah…" He muses, "Yes I am telling you what to do. And no, you don't have a choice."_

_He walks up to me casually, smartly, almost threateningly. I can feel my knees going weak. My heart pounds and my hands shake._

"_I'm the one taking care of you now, not your lousy excuse for a mother." He whispers close to me. His eyes are dark. Menacing. I could've cried. He had changed so much in a matter of hours. This was not my knight in shining armor. More like used tin foil._

"_Now come on." His tone brightens, as if it was never said. "Bring the shoes, we're gonna make some new friends."_

_-_

_A woman with bleach blonde hair and black lined eyes greets me. Well, I wouldn't call it a greeting. It was like a sour acknowledgement. A large black Rottweiler sits beside her obediently. He drools, and the name on his tag says Roscoe. _

"_What's her name?" The woman asks Chris. His arm drapes my shoulder, I feel falsely comforted._

_Chris hesitates; it's almost as if we don't know each other. He looks to me._

"_What's your first name again baby?"_

_My jaw drops. I stare at the floor in disbelief, my eyes sting and I can feel my face flushing._

"_You're my boyfriend, Chris. How could you forget-"_

"_Forget it babe, this is Brenda-"_

"_My name is Rivielle, NOT Babe." I break out of his grasp._

_Brenda studies me. "She's too feisty, too much moxy. You'll have to fix her first. My girls are not so…insolent. Teach her a manner or two, and then bring her back to me." She turns swiftly on her heel and heads over to exit the small room in the old secluded, menacing edifice Chris has brought me to._

"_What the hell is she talking about Chris?!" I have mustered the courage to yell. I back away from him, looking for the door, only to find myself being restrained by a huge man who stands near the doorway. He holds me tightly by my shoulders as I squirm and yell obscenities. I watch as Chris chases Brenda down and begs her on his knees to take me. To my horror he tells her-_

"_Do you have any idea what I had to go through to get her for you?" He pleads at her feet._

"_Hmm." She considers, studying his earnest stare. It takes her a while, but finally she says: "I will take her. But you have to come and train her twice a week. There is only so much my girls can do for her-"_

"_Thank you!" He kisses her hand._

_I begin to choke; I can barely process what I'm seeing. I struggle to free myself from the bouncer's grip. My face wets with tears and nose runnings._

_**Did I just get sold?**_

"_How old?" She asks. I can't speak, I am in complete shock._

"_Sixteen…I think." My boyfriend tells this strange woman how old he __**thinks**__ I am._

"_Virgin?" _

"_Of course. You pay me double, you promised." He points at her._

"_Chris!" I shriek, agonized. I feel dizzy; I go limp in the burly man's arms. The world spins before me in a haze and I wail in anguish._

"_Shut the fuck up! I'm doing this for you!" He yells back. I wish I was dead._

_Brenda then notices me again. She snaps her finger at the man, he drops me. I fall to the floor and don't make an effort to pick myself up. I want to stay there and die. I look at Chris and I no longer see him. I see a monster that waited two months to devour an unsuspecting teenage girl. _

"_You…you're a pimp." I murmur through my sniffling._

"_No kidding." He looks down his nose at me. _

"_I swear I won't tell anyone if you just please take me home."_

"_Sweetheart." Brenda addresses me. She kneels in front of me in her costly pumps and pats my arm. "I paid good money for a steady whore. I expect you to stick around for a while. Now Chris here, he can still be your dear old hubbie. Nothing changes really. You'll just work nights. I bet you never had a job before, huh kid. No no…Mc Donalds perhaps?" _

_Chris snickers in the corner. I bury my face in my hands. _

"_Now get some sleep." Chris says, his voice has softened again. "Follow me to your room." _

_I don't want to get up, I can't move from my spot on the floor. My head aches from stress, and I'm sure I am having a panic attack. This is my first, but it will not be my last. This experience makes them a constant occurrence from now on. _

"_Honey." Says Brenda from across the room. "If I were you, I wouldn't stay there of the floor too long. That's where Roscoe likes to take his meals." She titters a witchy laugh and kicks a doggy bowl across the floor towards me._

_-_

_Chris sits with me on the bed. He holds me while I weep. I loathe him with every fiber of my being but I let him hold me. Expressively I want to rip his throat out. He did this to me. But carnally, I need to survive, and he is all I have in the world, as well as the fact that he insists-_

"_I only did it to help you." He holds my head in his lap and smoothes back my hair. I wipe my eyes, if I were wearing makeup, it would be running._

"_Stop saying that! You're lying, you're lying, you're lying!" I shout. He covers my mouth with his hand._

"_Shhh! You'll scare the other girls." _

_I bite his hand. _

"_Ahh fuck!" He shakes his hand. "You've go problems babe."_

"_I trusted you. I told you I loved you and you sold me to some trashy bitch… A coke-head! There has got to be something wrong with a woman who lures young girls into this shit."_

"_You need to start respecting Brenda. She's already given you a roof over your head, clean food and water, decent clothes…" He stands up, walking towards the door. "And she'll be looking after you, from now on." He walks towards the door. "She took me in, and so I'm paying her back. You'll make her a lot of profit. Be proud of yourself. You're beautiful." He wipes his eyes before he leaves. _

"_Chris wait!" I plead. But he's out the door. I jump up, running for him and turning the knob. I hear his keys from the other side. He's locked me in._

"_Chris!" I yell this for hours. Banging and kicking the door until my hand bleeds. I ignore the pain and continue banging, only stopping when I hear-_

"_Quiet down bitch, before I come in there and kick your ass!" From down the hall. I realize I live in a boarding house for hookers. _

_I go into the small closet-like bathroom and rinse my bleeding hand. __**I have to get out of here.**__ I tell myself. I pace the floor for an hour before collapsing from exhaustion on my bed with hot pink bedding. Tomorrow is my first day I suppose. I only have some hazy idea of what I'm being forced into but I know now…it's far from good. _

"And basically…that's how I met Chris and arrived…in the condition I was in when you found me." I wiped tears, as I sat beside John. He rested in the hospital bed, he had been listening intently from beginning to end and that is one of the reasons I love him so much. I hadn't thought about Mark once all that day.

"I'm glad you decided to share that with me Rivielle, though I lament for it happening to you.

"Don't be sorry. I made an extremely stupid mistake, and…I paid for it."

It was silent for a moment, and then John said, "Mistakes are completely beneficial in the long run."

"I know."

John turned to me. "Would you like to tell me how Christian came to his deserved end?"

I looked at my hands which rested in my lap. I nodded slowly, watching my tears fall into them, like warm summer rain.

"Just…give me a minute." I manage, standing quickly and leaving the room to compose myself, after that long emotional upheaval.

Its times like those that I hold my beating heart tightly as it pounds under the surface of my skin. In times like those I shudder to think where I will be when John is gone, when my psychologist, landlord, confidant and unrequited lover leaves me. I want him around for me always, so I can feel steady, level headed.

_So I can have someone to tell my stories to._


	25. Anything

"What did Chris teach me?…well he taught me nearly everything I knew."

_I am about to celebrate my seventeenth birthday in one week, and it has been approximately four months since Chris brought me to live with Brenda's girls. I'm not the youngest, but I am the least skilled. Chris is the only man I have ever kissed, my first boyfriend. At this point, I have pardoned him…for everything; and with all the customary naivety of a teenage girl. After months of being told over and over again, it had finally sunk into me: _

"_I did this for you." Chris embraces me, and then gives me a once over. He smoothes down my wavy hair and hands me a water bottle. _

"_I love you." I declare, watching him walk away, hoping he'll turn around and assure me the same. He simply nods and turns his head around slightly to wink at me before turning the corner._

_It's my big day. My first day…on the job. _

_All the girls are proud of me. They say I've learned so well…so…quickly._

_A redhead talks to me while I wait for Brenda to show up and take me to the hotel. She says this night, is going to make Brenda about a thousand at least. There are about four or five classes of women and girls under her watch. And I, being a…you know what…am held at highest value. _

_After tonight, my price goes down significantly. _

_Or so the battered looking red-head says. _

"_Elle, what'r they calling ya nowadays?" She inquires, lighting a cigarette from her pack and offering me one. I turn her down, shutting my mouth hurriedly and breathing through my nose to keep from coughing. I haven't started my habit as of that moment, but by the end of the month, I will have picked it up. Every girl here has a nickname; I'm not exactly familiar with mine yet. _

"_Um, nothing official yet. Brenda should tell me sooner or later." _

_She nods, smiling a smoker's smile at me. She's a veteran I can tell, she has a medium-sized scar decorating her chest a ways above her left breast. It is just visible, peaking out from her halter. Someone did that to her. The way it curves and indents in her skin, it's like someone had marked his territory there. Her eyes are sullen and I see there are stories upon stories to be told just by staring into them. She reminds me of my mother, but then again, every worn, defeated woman I meet does. _

"_Just be careful." She warns, noticing my staring at her battle scars. Because that's what we do after all. Every time we go out, we're risking our lives. At the end of the day we are war torn and emotionally damaged. But no fight is won without tribulation._

"_I don't know how us younger ones end up here…" I whisper. "I-I mean, I don't belong here. I should be…studying or something. Going to a school football game, maybe. I'm sixteen." I confess._

"_Then leave. If you really feel that way honey." She tells me pitifully._

"_I can't. Trust me…" I look around, feeling watched. I lower my voice significantly. "I would run if I could." _

"_You can." She reassures._

"_No." I shake my head. "It's really not simple. Chris wants me to be happy…to have things. To go places, see the world! He said I can't do any of it if I don't have a job. And he's right." _

_She smirks knowingly. "Your man huh?" She looks me in the eye. "Do you honestly think this is all you're good enough to do? Me, I'm not educated, I grew up in a group home, lived under abusive foster parents…this is all that's left for me. You? You're a trip, sweetheart. You've got brains, charisma…you could be anything you wanna be. You're too good for this, that's for sure. Don't ever let some idiot MAN tell you somethin' different." She puts out her cig, stamping on it. _

_I stew on this, nearly crying. "I can't go home. I haven't got any-" _

_She hushes me, diving into her purse instantly, and pulls out probably all her earnings for the night. She counts it, "Three hundred…fifteen…here you go kid." She hands me the money folded. I shake my head furiously. _

"_Oh no, please keep your money-" _

"_I insist."_

"_Won't you be in trouble?" I ask._

_She laughs. "With all the business out here? I'll have made all of it back and more in three or four hours." _

_She offers it to me again, and I hesitate once more before finally accepting her generosity. _

"_How can I make it up to you?" I sob, wiping under my eyelid, trying to fix my liner._

"_Live on the right side of the road." She says simply, nodding goodbye as a car pulls up and a handsome business man beckons her over from behind his tinted windows. _

_-_

_Instead of waiting out my fate, I turn back and sprint back to the building where the girls sleep. I hide the money in the waistband of my skirt and layer my top over it in concealment. As fast as I can go in heels, I make my way to the room at the end of the hall to grab my things. I try the knob, and find to my intense frustration, that it is locked._

"_Shit!" I rattle it again._

"_Baby is that you?" says a groggy voice from inside. _

_I freeze. I didn't think anyone would be in my sleeping quarters._

"_Uh…" I hear the door unlock as I back away._

_The door swings open, it's a woman. Another one of the girls. I sigh with relief. _

"_Oh damn, I'm s-sorry, I guess I confused the rooms. I was taking a nap in here…"_

_I shove past her into my room, the girl is clearly drunk and I have no time to stand around. I grab up my bag, and begin throwing things into it. Déjà vu engulfs me as I see myself in the same frantic routine four months earlier in my mother's house. Packing wildly, not having a clue where I'm going. _

_Just as I prepare to remove my heels in exchange for my beloved sneakers I have hidden under a floorboard from Chris- speak of the devil._

_Someone begins pounding on the door. I look up to see drunken girl grasping the knob, and opening the door to reveal a very flabbergasted Chris. _

"_Melina! Get the fuck out. Your room is the next one." He orders drunken girl. _

_She rolls her eyes before stumbling out in her stupor. _

"_I'm gonna ask you once." He slams the door behind her, locking it. "Why didn't you wait for Brenda?"_

_I'm a terrible liar. "…I had to pee." _

"_Oh I'm fucking sure! That's why you're in here, with your shit in a bag-" He pauses to laugh spitefully. "You're even pathetic enough to have Melina be your lookout?!" _

"_Actually…" I stop when it hits me. "Wait. You can remember some bimbo's name, but you can't ever remember mine?" _

"_Who. Gives. A. Shit?" _

_I close my eyes, shaking my head with a sigh. "You know what? Fuck y-" _

_My head turns swiftly to the side, a sharp stinging pain blankets one side of my face, I can feel the heat from my blood boiling under my skin. My head spins, I'm delirious for a second. _

"_There's more where that came from if you don't get your shit together, grow the FUCK up, and go get in the black BMW that's waiting in the front."_

_Without thinking, barely comprehending how hard he's hit me, I comply. Covering my mouth to hide my sobs, I scurry towards the door, not noticing when a twenty dollar bill falls from my waistline. _

_He notices. "Woah woah woah. Stop right there." _

_I freeze, not yet knowing what I have done._

_He bends down, picks up the twenty and stares at it, as if some abominable thing, come to demean his power over me. _

"_Come here and tell me what this is." He orders._

_I fold my arms humbly, inching towards him with as much fear as humility. Praying no more hidden money slips from under my skirt. He approaches even closer, we are nose to nose._

"_Where did you get this?" He murmurs maliciously._

"_I-I" I can't speak. His hands grasp my arms and he lets the money fall. His grasp trails down to my wrists and he shoves me towards the wall, slamming me against it. I feel the thumping pain in my head as it hits the wall, I yelp. I feel his warm breath against my neck. Then I inhale, smelling the marijuana on him. He's high. I write this whole thing off because of it._

"_I really fuckin hope you didn't earn this cash." He reaches down and under my shirt, pulling out the rest of the money. He stuffs it in his pocket. _

"_W-what if I did?" I toy with the thought of it._

_He chuckles. "Then I would have to take back what's mine." _

"_Me?" _

"_Exactly. You're mine." He gropes me, grabbing at my chest and pulling at my hair as he presses his mouth to mine sloppily. I have yet to think anything of it. I am a fool-headed, love-sick, teenager._

'_He's high' I tell myself, 'He really doesn't know what he did before. He didn't mean to hurt me. He wouldn't do that intentionally. Ever.'_

_-_

"It didn't lead to anything. He made me leave with Brenda." I rose from my seat and opened the medical bag on the counter. It was time to give John his medication.

"I wanted to sleep with him that night. But he…let go of me and told me that he couldn't… because I was already paid for." I exhale; it was still painful to relive.

John didn't speak for a long time; I had to check if he was still awake. He was, but was merely contemplating everything I had told him.

"This woman Brenda…" He exhales deeply, removing his air mask to speak. "This was her birth name?"

I paused. "Yeah. Brenda Meeks. I got to know her really well."

John asked me for a piece of paper and a pencil. He wrote, and then folded the paper. I was preoccupied with mixing the proper meds for him. I turned with his tray of medicine, food and water; to see him holding the precisely folded paper out to me.

"Should I read it?" I asked, setting the tray down a moment.

"It's for Detective Hoffman." He informed. "I would like you to deliver this to him."

I hesitated in taking it from him. Once I did, I wouldn't be able to turn him down.

"Mark and I…we…we stopped speaking." I confessed to a nonchalant John.

"It's something I would like you to help me with. Do you accept?" He pressed.

I didn't stop to think. "Of course." I took the paper from his hand and without reading it, shifted it to the other hand and continued holding onto him.

"Don't ever think I wouldn't do anything for you." I assured him. I saw his demeanor lighten, and his grip on my hand felt less relaxed. Losing my equanimity, I leaned swiftly down, and embraced him. "I owe you everything." I sighed into his ear, nestling my head against his shoulder.

-

When John slept, I slept too. But this night, I could barely begin to close my eyes. John's given me an opportunity to see Mark again. I couldn't fathom why if he already knows about the falling out we've had; and why not Amanda?

I rolled over in bed, took a deep breath and swallowed my pride with great force. In the morning, I would pay Mark Hoffman a long awaited, unexpected and undeserved visit.


	26. Dream

* * *

During the night, I dreamt. When I dream I usually don't experience a real-life situation. I usually dream in colors and sounds, black backgrounds with familiar faces and voices presenting themselves to me in unfamiliar ways. Either things that are to come, or things teetering on the cusp of my worst nightmares; things that I couldn't fathom actually happening. Well, tonight was different. Tonight, with the looming meeting with Mark still nagging me, I dreamed I was some where mountainous. Running, at top speed for no apparent reason. This was not the average man's dream where something is chasing you, yet you can't seem to move your legs fast enough. No, not at all. I was certainly running fast enough. So fast, I feared I wouldn't be able to stop without tripping over my own legs. I had no particular destination, no hint or reason as to my purpose there. Still, I didn't…couldn't stop. Only when I willed myself in my mind to stop, did I fall, into a gaping hole in the ground I had either failed to notice, or put there mentally to force myself to cease. I fell, at least ten or twelve feet down. Twice as far at they dig to bury a person. It was a freeing fall, I spread my arms as I did, and waited for the impact. But it never came. When I opened my eyes, I found myself sitting unharmed at the bottom. Not even a scratch. Instead of being relieved, I was intensely afraid. Having survived the normally crippling fall, I took that to mean that the worst was yet to some. I clawed at the walls of the hole, desperately trying to find some hand or foot hold that would support me. There was none. Suddenly, I felt a great rumble from above me, as if someone were heaving a large something near the edge of the hole, I could see it now, it was blocking a portion of light from the opening. The object I could see, was a large rock…boulder. I screamed as I realized that however it was being pushed, it was going to fall into the hole, and crush me.

As it fell in, I threw myself down to the floor of the hole, vainly shielding myself with my arms over my head as I whimpered. Down down down in went, it hit me with such force…it awakened me.

I rose swiftly from my bed in a cold sweat. It was dawn, and I knew John wouldn't quite be awoke yet. As I collected my dream, I buried my face in my arms with my knees to my chest and sobbed. It was far too real. When I had composed myself, I washed and dressed slowly, stalling.

_Coward. You are a lowlife. You told him you loved him, and now you're struggling to face him? Scared to put yourself on the line? _

Exactly, that. I grabbed an envelope, neatly penned his name on the front, and slipped the note inside. I stared at the envelope in my hands for as long as a moment could stretch, and then I had a marvelous idea. Quickly, I snatched up some paper and a pen from John's desk, and I printed some simple words:

I don't want to lose you.

-Rivielle.

Then I folded it up, and sealed it along with the piece of my heart I had left to give, into the envelope that held John's note.

-

I rang Mark's doorbell, having taken two buses and walked four blocks to get to his complex uptown. The doorman had stared at me suspiciously. I braced myself, wondering what I would say, what I would do…I could hear other voices inside. The door opened slightly, and I stepped back. A woman, late twenties, early thirties, I didn't know. She was dressed in woman's slacks and a white, button up, collared shirt. She was pretty…very, with her wavy golden brown locks, and perfect blues that looked at me questioningly.

I lost my train of thought instantly, not expecting this at all. I don't know how long I stood there, jaw fallen slightly, envelope nearly slipping from my grasp. I heard Mark in the kitchen, "Kerry, how do you take your coffee?"

She didn't answer him, she was waiting for me to say something. "Are you here for Mark?"

I looked at my feet for a moment, then glancing back up at her. I finally understood my dream. This was my boulder, it was her. Staring at me patiently with steely blue eyes. I exhaled, shaking my head. Realizing that this was the crushing weight and pain I dreamed about. A woman, in his house. I didn't realize he was already over it.

"Uh…no. Not anymore." I assure.

"Are you sure? He's right in here. I can call him for you, if you'll hang on a sec."

"No. I don't need-"

Suddenly, another man, a tall black male from inside calls Mark, "Hey man, you got a visitor."

Mark appears from out of the kitchen to see me in the doorway, and I feel like someone has just shone an invisible spotlight on me. His eyes lightens in surprise, as he hands the black male a mug, coming towards me. I held the envelope tightly to my chest.

"Would you excuse us?" He asked the woman. She stepped back inside, shutting the door, and leaving us in the carpeted and well lit hallway alone.

The corner of his lips turned up in a smile that I have loved for a long time.

"Hi." I laugh, looking down and remembering the envelope. "Here." I come closer to him, standing on my toes to inch up higher and tell him in his ear, because I know his company was probably listening from behind the door. I didn't blame them, they were detectives after all.

"Its from John." I whisper. I fall off my toes and back onto my heel. I give him a meaningful nod before turning to leave.

As I walked, I could hear the crumple of him hurrying to open the letter. He must have read John's first because he didn't say a word or do a thing until I was all the way down the hall and pressing the elevator button. I turned my head to see him holding my note and staring me down from the end of the hall.

He shook his head incredulously, delivering me a knowing smirk, and then strode quickly down the hall to meet me at the end. I stepped away from the elevator to meet him halfway. I bit my lip in anticipation, and then he enveloped me, lifting me off the ground as I pressed my mouth fervently to his, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Supporting me with one arm, he ran his hand down the side on my breast, where it lingered before grasping my hip momentarily, and then lower to massage my thigh. I moaned against his lips, wrapping my legs tighter around his waist.

"What took you so long?" He broke away allowing me a gasp of air.

"I don't even know anymore…" Suddenly remembering something, I punched him in his arm. "Who's she?" I raised my eyebrow, gesturing back to his apartment door.

"…Kerry? You are so cute… " He grinned, kissing my jaw. "I work with her."

I pushed my hair from my face, incredibly relieved. "Oh thank God." I leaned down hurriedly, joining our lips again. As I lost myself in his manly scent and sweet kiss, I knew that I had been wrong about the dream. _This _was the meaning of the fall into the huge pit that I couldn't climb out of. Moreover, didn't _want _to emerge from. I now relished the descent. It was good down here, and as long I as I always fell into his arms, the weight of it all couldn't hurt me.

-

We lingered in that hallway for so long talking, and flirting and touching…that the time just flew. It got so late that Mark's co-workers came out to announce that they were leaving and they would be in touch. Kerry and I locked eyes as she entered the elevator alongside Rigg, but I hurriedly looked away. If those two ever got to close to discovering Mark and I, they would have to be taken care of. I would address the matter later with John. And speaking of-

"What did the note say?" I asked Mark. Once the others were gone, I took his hand and we walked back into his apartment.

"Its just giving me a few more names…instructions…" He sighed. "The usual."

I nodded. "Mhmm…and, uh why were those _cops_ here?"

He grinned at me, "You say that like its a dirty word."

I winked at him in response.

"…We were discussing the disappearance of Eric Matthews."

My eyes widened. "What do they know?"

"Nothing at all actually."

I stood up, beginning to pace. "Well he's dead…right?"

"No. Not exactly."

"I was under the impression that Amanda killed him-"

"So was I, until I saw him lying in the hall, I took him to-"

I cut him off, shocked. "You _took him _somewhere? Oh my God, does John know!?"

"Of course John knows, we need Eric for another game. I mean you said that like I'm trying to disregard the rules…and I'm not. I'm doing what I have to do. Soon this will all be over."

"What do you mean?" I furrow my brows, hands on my hips.

"I mean…" He took my arm, and pulled me in. I rested my head on his chest, as he nestled his in my hair. "I mean once we're done with all of this, we'll be free to start our life together."

I look up at him, "I think I would enjoy that. To finally, have a little bit of peace."

"I can't wait to give it to you." He murmured softly.

"Would I be selfish to ask you to give me something else too?" I hold his hand tighter, as I felt his steady breathing stop suddenly as he processed my words.

"What would you want?"

I let go of him and stepped back an inch. "I have to show you."

I looked down, my hair dropping over my face as I bent my head down to begin unbuttoning my shirt. He wasn't saying a word, I didn't look up to see his expression, but it must have been somewhere between awe and disbelief. Mark Hoffman was never at a loss for words.

I shrugged out of my blouse, and dropped it at my feet. As I started the button on my jeans, he stopped me.

"I'm not gonna fuck you."

"I am not. Asking you. To _fuck_ me!" I turned away from him, picking up my shirt. Astonished that the sentence just escaped his lips.

"What are you doing then? I mean, God…" For the first time, I feel his beautiful, meaningful eyes on my breasts, heaving with anger. "Its _not_ like I wouldn't love that-"

"Mark! I wanted you to make love to me! What do you think, this is all I'm good for? That my natural instinct is to drop to my knees for the first guy who kisses me? Well, I am capable of love! And I cannot believe I am explaining myself right now!"

"Rivielle, I…want you, I do. I just don't think it's the right moment. Not yet. I realized a long time ago that I was going be very precise with you, ever since you told me that you have never had sex for love."

I was tearing up, "I wanted to make that happen tonight!"

"Rivielle. You and I can never go that far until I'm sure…"

"Sure of what!? What are we waiting for Mark?"

"I'm not going to _make love_ to you until I am one-hundred percent sure that you will not turn your back on _us_."

"And how would I do tha…" It hit me. "You can't possibly think…Oh my God…You honestly think that I would just use you and leave you for John?"

"As much as I love you, I wouldn't put it past you. I can't help watching you, every time you make puppy eyes when you see him. Have you ever realized what that does to me? John barely moves a muscle and you go completely insane. You will never be completely there for me, until…"

"Until what, Mark!? Until John is _dead?!" _

He didn't speak. I dropped my face into my hands and wept in frustration.

"I'm leaving." I didn't even stop to put my shirt back on. I grabbed my coat and shoved past him. I jetted out into the cold hall in my bra and unbuttoned pants.

He went after me, I didn't stop. I couldn't bring myself to stop crying. I pressed the elevator button frantically.

"Think about it Rivielle! If John asked you to marry him right this second, or…I don't know, have his kids or something, would you really turn him down for me?"

I didn't answer him, I ran into the elevator.

"Fuck you, Mark." The elevator doors closed. I buttoned my pants back up, feeling embarrassed and stupid. I pulled my shirt and coat on; and for the first time since being born again, I felt like a prostitute.

-

I went to the restroom when I returned back to the lair. I opened the door, forgetting to knock first and was almost floored by the sight. Amanda was sitting on the edge of the tub, pants down, and ruby streaks running down her legs. She held a box-cutter in one hand, and gauze in the other. There was a bottle of antiseptic on the sink.

I gasped, covering my mouth. She turned, shocked. "Get out of here!" She shrieked.

"No! Stop-" I moved towards her. Hand outstretched, motioning for her to hand me the cutter.

Instead, she dropped it into the tub, standing up and climbing out. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her legs, as I backed up nervously. She was bleeding all over herself.

"Why are you doing this…" I breathed, looking around for some medical supplies. "L-let me help you-"

"Just GET OUT!" She shoves me towards the door, I hold her arms back forcefully. She stops a moment, pausing to look me in the eye. A cry for help.

"How long have you been doing this?" I ask her.

She shakes her head, starting to sob. "Get out, get out, get out!" She shrieks, to which I oblige.

There was just too much going on this evening.

"I'm taking a goddamn nap!" I yell to no one.


	27. Eric

Fuming, I stormed away while my mind spun; still trying to process the collective previous events as real. In an attempt to maintain my sanity, I let myself fall face down on my bed. I threw the pillow over my head, trying to block out Mark's last to me.

_If John asked you to marry him…_

…_would you really turn him down for me?_

In all honesty, no. But it's always been that way, never faltered; I have never changed my mind even the slightest. So I was using him. Running to him when dissatisfied with John's limits on physicality. Of course this was unfair, of course I was being selfish and juvenile. Still, I couldn't help myself. It was foolish to believe that I could have the best of both men, but that never meant I didn't want it any less.

"Hey. Get up." I felt a tap on my shoulder. I lifted my head up from under the pillow and left the darker recesses inside of my mind. Amanda was standing by my bed, looking down at me expectantly.

I stared up at her groggily. "Yes?"

"Well?" She asked, gesturing to me.

"Well what?" I sat up, holding my hand palm up to signify my waiting for her answer.

"You honestly expect me to believe that you wont say anything to John…"

"I don't expect anything of you." My tired eyes focused on her sourly.

"Right."

"You know, this may come as a shock to you, but I'm not a bitch. Besides, I've decided I won't force help on you. If it's one thing I learned here, it's that people have to help themselves." I laid down again, turning my back to her.

I heard her mumble some bitter remark about me being a liar, and as her footsteps faded, I found myself falling into my long awaited nap.

-

My internal clock woke me approximately two or three hours later. There was complete silence as usual. It held the eerie stillness of a haunted house or the typically empty prayer chapel in a hospice. All the foreboding and dread of such places. Rising up, I slipped into the worn brown moccasin sandals that were waiting patiently beside my bed. The smooth texture against my soles and ankles was exceedingly comfortable, and pleasantly familiar. I strode back over to the now empty bathroom, which by the way, was now clear of blood and self-mutilation related articles. Sighing with stress, I turned on the sink and washed first my hands, then my face. Combing my neglected hair, I contemplated doing something. Something rare, something I didn't like doing. I was going to ask John for a weighty bit of information.

He appeared to be sleeping when I entered the room through the plastic strip curtains. Folding my arms, I walked around aimlessly, wondering if he would even entertain my request, let alone allow me to go ahead with it.

"Are you awake?" I queried.

"Subsequently, yes."

I moved closer to him, helping him sit up and giving him water. "Normally I wouldn't ask, but I think I deserve a little leverage, a bit of involvement…" I leaned over him, checking the heart rate monitors. "Other than running errands…" I moved back, taking his cool hand to warm it.

"I understand your…dissatisfaction."

"Then you would be happy to answer my question?"

"If the answer lies within my abilities."

I paused, nodding seriously. "Where is Eric Matthews?"

John was very silent. I shifted my weight nervously as I stood, waiting for him to speak. Maybe I shouldn't have asked.

"I know you know…" I whispered pryingly.

"I advise you not to abuse information, Rivielle. Things confided in you, are not for personal gain."

I nodded fiercely, squeezing his hand slightly. "I would never-"

"Eric Matthews is being contained not far from our last game site. I wonder if Detective Hoffman would be interested in showing you the way."

There was a way that he said the words…it was almost snide, somehow knowingly. But how could he have?

I scoffed, "Not likely…" I let go of his hand and begun to pace. "Mark and I…look I don't know how to say this…but I think Mark and I have irrevocably fallen out."

"And what has been lost?"

I had to stop and seriously consider the answer. Not that there _wasn't_ anything to be lost from the rift between Mark and I, but the for the simple fact that I still wasn't supposed to let emotions take precedent in my life. I was always mindful of the curriculum. And despite wanting to say:

"_Everything! My one chance at a normal life!"_

Instead I said:

"It isn't…the _end_ of the _world_."

He sensed my cover. "Its become clear that you don't actually believe so."

Falling into the chair behind me, I exhaled. "I'm trying here."

He considered; "Describe your relationship to me."

I froze. I could never picture myself explaining it out loud, let alone to John. That was some stubborn part in me, which ironically lived right next to the mushy part of me that couldn't wait to spill my uncomfortable, jumbled feelings for Mark.

"Uh…" I laughed nervously. "I don't know.."

He closed his eyes, "Take your time."

I held my lips together. _I'm damned if I don't speak, yet if I say too much, I'm still at fault for feeling more that I should. A trap_. I forced myself, though I saw his test.

"It's odd. I don't mean to say…peculiar, just unorthodox. When I see him…I feel like, who knows when I'll see him again? Will we be able to see each other tomorrow? Will I even be alive tomorrow? I know that isn't healthy." I looked down at my hands in my lap, there were little droplets on my finger. I reached upwards to wipe my face and sniffled. "It's too urgent, it's too much like…a game. Excuse me for saying. All the time. We wont ever get to just walk in the park, there's never any time to just…be."

He studied me, and then as if he were dismissing my last; he said, "I'm permitting you to do what you will with the information on the whereabouts of Eric Matthews…" He paused for breath. "I can only trust that you will be responsible, and never careless…" He began to wheeze, and then cough violently. I hurried to him, and handed him his oxygen mask. As I watched over him protectively, I promptly resolved not to leave him again tonight, and so I scurried off to get ready for sleep beside him once more.

-

However, in the morning, I silently slipped away to dress for the coming experience. I packed a bag with water bottles, a bag of trail mix and a pen light I found on John's forsaken work table. I was quick, anxious to be relieved of the rare guilt I was now feeling. I knew for sure that the next game, was going to be _big_. We had never _kept _anyone before, and it was imperative to me that our subject be well cared for. I couldn't have him dying on us, and therefore spoiling our efforts. If Amanda despised Eric, and Mark was negligent, then I was left to see to it. I would take it upon myself, and confirm for myself as well as John, that I was useful, and needed. Irreplaceable, even?

I had only a guess as to where Eric Matthews would be. I would have liked to have my suspicions confirmed, but it seemed I would have to settle for John's nonexistent specification and my own hazy intuition.

"Wait."

Amanda stopped me in the hall. I turned to see her eyes were wet and distinctly reddened. Her skin blanched. My mind blanked for a moment, and she shook her head, scoffing.

"I _knew _you were going to stand there with that stupid look on your face."

I opened my mouth, trying to bring sound forth. Finally, "What's…happening?"

She breathed deeply. "John's getting worse. If I can't find someone to ease his pain soon…I can't say what will happen." She folded her arms, blinking too much to hide her tears. As I watched her, I couldn't deny feeling all the same helplessness, indecision and fear. It was radiating from her and soaking into me. I pitied us both.

So suddenly, and without much actual thought on my part, I reached out and embraced her.

Immediately, she reacted with revulsion and hostility. I knew it would come, so I held fast, "Calm down, everything will work out. We're just going to have to work together to see this through. We _have_ to…for him."

She stopped struggling and I let her go. It was terribly awkward, but much needed.

-

When we decided we still weren't warmed up to each other enough to go on consoling, I rushed out, away, and back to the basement of the game house. I wandered blindly for possibly a half hour, stopping only at the bathroom to note it as a landmark, and then continuing on around corners in the maze of halls. Then, I came to a dead end. At the very extent of the corridor which I likened to a dungeon passageway, was a chamber which I took to be a prisoner's cell. The way it was bolted, with only a small metal sliding window in the center to push food and other items through.

I approached it.

"Anyone in there?" I called, knocking on the door cautiously at first, then progressively louder until I heard a shuffle and an agonized moan.

"Eric Matthews?" I pressed my ear to the door, "If you can, say something." There was a long silence, then heavy breathing and coughing.

"Eric, can you hear me?" I tapped on the door several times. There came an 'urg' noise, and I could hear him dragging himself across the floor. He was hurt, possibly dying. I knelt down, shutting one eye and looking through the small aperture in the door to see him. Clicking my…John's pen light on, I directed the light into the space, moving it around to have a better view of the captive's chamber.

He looked wretched. He was slumped against one wall, dirty and perspiring. His eyes were closed, though I know he heard me.

"Eriiiiiiic." I called in a disturbingly sing-song voice. I rapped on the door again, and again. My knocks growing more impatient as he continued ignoring me. "I have some things for you."

His throat was evidently too dry to speak, so I explained myself.

"You don't know me, but I'm here to help." I pulled open the sliding window and rolled the two water bottles inside.

I listened for a while, and then heard him dragging his foot across the floor. Peaking in the room with the penlight, I could see he had broken his foot somewhere in the ankle area, and was yet to receive adequate medical attention. However, someone had set his foot in place with a brace, allowing it to heal correctly. Albeit, painfully and slowly. At that moment, I resolved to start bringing him food laced with antibiotics, and painkillers. While I considered, I absently heard him twisting open one water bottle and drinking savagely. Once he had finished the second, which was rather fast, he wheezed-

"You can't help me unless you're getting me out of here and to my son."

I rolled my eyes, "Quite the contrary." I stood, turning to lean against the chamber door. "I'm sure it'll benefit you much more to stay in there."

This caused him to snap. "Let me out of here, you psycho bitch!" His voice broke, I cringed with aggravation as I heard him shudder in agony and begin to sob.

"Not so tough now huh, you piece of shit." I murmured as I pounded on the door, all the memory of John sitting in pain came flooding back. I remembered him covered in blood, the head trauma, broken bones. "I could slit your fucking throat for what you did to him!" I roared with bitter and uncommon austerity.

I hurriedly departed from the door; my skin searing hot with rage, and knowing that if I did not leave now, I would open the door and finish Amanda's job. Suddenly I turned to say, "But I'm better than that! I am better than a person who beats the helpless. Abuses his own son! Do you hear me Matthews?!"

I heard him sputtering and clearing his throat, he answered me with unexpected humility. "Please. Tell me where Daniel is..." It was barely a whisper, but I caught it. I relaxed my tense shoulders and brow. Slowly I came back, kneeling down to tell him.

"Your son is completely fine." I paused for thought. "If I were you though, I would be much more worried about myself. Daniel's not the one we need..." I smiled smugly from the other side of the door. I left him with the trail mix and the last water bottle I had brought, reminding myself once more to prepare the medicine for next time.

-

When I returned exactly two days later, (beginning my ritual) I slipped two water bottles, and a wrapped sandwich through the opening in the door. When there was no response, I pounded on the door with the bottom of my foot, slightly worried. A small, immensely weakened voice requested, "Please….stop…."

I did, reminding him once again that if he did not drink the water, he would die of dehydration.

Meeting with Eric proved to be a much more satisfying incident than I had previously tried to fathom. I was completely in control every time, no matter what he threatened me with. He could do nothing to me, and I had never felt that before. To be able to dominate over the man for once. It was wondrous and maddening to think that this man's well being depended on whether or not I could find mercy within myself. Of course, I was no sadist; and I wanted desperately, and more than any 'victim' I was aware of, to help him. Still, the feelings I was having were amazingly new and addictive, and I had begun to habitually visit Eric Matthews every two or three days.

However, when I would arrive, I would find tell-tale signs that someone else had been visiting Eric as well. I suspected it was Mark, because he still didn't know I was coming around as well. Also, the rat population had significantly risen, though I didn't truly mind them, it was a tad horrible to have one climb up your pant leg.

He was neither open-minded nor compassionate. He spent nearly all of our time together, either swearing at me, or begging me to free him. And if I could not attempt to do so, at least dial 911 on his behalf. When he said these things I usually ignored him, and I didn't mean to come off rude, but I laughed freely when he offered me a 'deal'. Because apparently, John, Amanda and I (he still never suspected his old pal, Detective Hoffman) were certainly 'going to trial' for 'this sick shit'. And if _I helped_ him now, I could get off with ten to fifteen years.

"But don't you see?" I responded from the other side of the door, I had crouched down to speak to him through the small sliding opening. "You've pretty much blown your first shot at _help_, Eric. Honestly, you've got it all wrong. Help won't come from a SWAT team busting you out of here."

I waited patiently; only to hear,

"You're a fucking lunatic…just like him…" He groaned, defeated. I heard his voice crack.

"THINK!" I shouted back. "He was doing all he could for you, and you took your deep-rooted…misplaced…unbridled anger out on the _one _person who could actually save you from yourself! I'm not usually so judgmental, but you could really stand to clean up your act before your next chance at life. You have no _fucking _idea how lucky you are right now."

And then I left him there to stew upon my words, forcibly ignoring his enraged cries and fist pounding.

-


End file.
